


Under the Radar

by Callaeidae3



Series: Under the Radar [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Suspense, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14631432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callaeidae3/pseuds/Callaeidae3
Summary: Keith's knife is confiscated and the Garrison make a curious find: the metal doesn't exist on Earth.The Garrison takes matters of Biosecurity seriously. They decide to run some tests - on the knife, and on Keith.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is good science, with ethics, compassion and careful consideration. Then there is disturbing science, where ideals, experimentation and 'precautions for our own safety' take priority. Sometimes there's a thin line between.
> 
> The idea for this originates from a conversation with writer rosemaryandtime. If you haven't come across 'Out of the Desert', it's an amazingly beautiful fanfiction regarding the relationship between twelve-year-old Keith and nineteen/twenty-year-old Shiro (pre-series Voltron) and I thoroughly recommend it. We were discussing the location of Keith's knife and where he kept it during Garrison years and from that arose the horrifying thought of what the Garrison might do if they found it. For the sake of 'reasons for science and planetary security', as rosemaryandtime put it....
> 
> I will add tags as they come up/I think of them. A quick warning though, this story involves controversial science and the disturbing kind of 'reasons' as we saw in that alternate reality episode of Season 3 (Episode 4: Hole in the Sky). There's no torture as such, but it does involve trauma. Nothing gruesome, just is simply a bit horrifying and definitely not cool.

“Cadet Kogane. I have a question for you.”

Iverson opens the top draw of his desk. He pulls out something wrapped in material and sets it down in front of him before proceeding to unwrap it. Keith can only stare in a startling mix of anger and alarm.

That’s his knife. The one they confiscated from him when Iverson caught him with it last week.

“Where did you get this knife, Cadet?”

Keith glares daggers at Iverson. His frustration simmers. He knows what the Commander’s response is going to be before he even answers.  

“I don’t know,” he growls, trying to keep his tone neutral and failing at it. “My father gave it to me.”

The truth sounds too vague to be considered the least bit truthful. Keith knows that, but it’s the truth nonetheless and he could at least be given credit for not lying.

 “Your father?” Iverson is not amused. He never is. “In your records, it says that your father left when you were only seven. I highly doubt any parent would give their kid a _knife_ at that young age, don’t you think?” He slams a palm down on the desk. “Now, tell me, Cadet, where did that knife come from?”

Keith doesn’t flinch. But Iverson’s attitude is making his own attitude flare. _I'm not a liar like you._ He knows Iverson’s a liar, a good one, too, managing to convince the entire world that the Kerberos disaster happened due to pilot error. _Almost_ the entire world.

It takes every bit of self-control he has not to snap. “Like I said, _I don’t know_.”

Iverson squints at him dangerously. Keith has no idea what’s going on in that man’s head, but he doesn’t like the look of it. It’s far more suspicious and contemplative than usual, almost like he’s weighing up what it’s worth to keep Keith – the ‘best pilot of his generation’ – at the Garrison.

“Don’t lie to me, Cadet,” growls Iverson. He leans forward, forearms resting in a v-shape on his desk and his hands clasped in front of the knife. “We’ve run some tests on this blade of yours. All analyses show that it’s definitely not from around here. As far as our scientists are concerned, the metal doesn’t even exist on Earth.”

Keith stares at him, slightly confused. That last sentence sounded like a threat, as if the research is meant to ring a bell. It doesn’t. He sits there quietly, albeit a little awkwardly, as he waits for Iverson to dismiss him or ask him a question he can actually speak to. But Iverson does neither, merely watches him like some kind of ghastly crow on a lamppost preparing to strike a harmless civilian walking in the street below.

After a tense two minutes of crow-watching, Keith’s dismissed.

Yet as shuts the door behind him and storms back to the physics class he’s just missed half of, he can’t help but feel something’s amiss with Iverson. It was weird, the creepy kind of weird, the way the Commander was looking at him. Sizing him up, considering carefully how best to catch his prey and take it down. Keith’s shaking a little when the classroom comes into sight. He ducks into the bathroom in the corridor quickly, feeling a bit nauseous and light-headed all of a sudden.

Something warns him he better stay on guard. Not 8/10 situational awareness like he usually operates on, but 11/10, if that’s possible. He doesn’t even feel like it’s safe to sleep at night. It would be better if he had someone to look out for him, but he doesn’t, and it’s exactly that which has Keith so unnerved.

Shiro’s gone. Keith has nobody. If something happens to him, nobody’s going to really care if he’s gone. Some people would even be relieved, like that exuberant cargo pilot who keeps trying to be better than him. If something happened to Keith, he’d probably go from cargo pilot to fight-class instantly, he’s actually that good a pilot.

But there’s something else concerning him, something far more alarming: if Keith disappears, nobody’s likely to notice.

 

It’s almost a fortnight before crow launches off the lamppost. Keith doesn’t even see it coming.

Keith returns to his room from the training simulators. The warning for lights out is called out down the corridors as he punches in the code on his door. The keypad bleeps, lights up green and the door clicks open. Keith swings it open and lets it slam behind him.

It’s just him, since the kid he shared it with found the Garrison too tough and quit. Keith doubts he’ll sleep, but the last two weeks he’s been so uptight and anxious that he’s too exhausted to do anything but at least nap.

There’s a knock on his door. Keith frowns.

He’s still in his uniform, so it’s just a matter of opening the door. Standing in the dim lighting of the hallway is an expressionless lady dressed in plain clothes. A white blouse with the standard employee orange and black Garrison jacket over top, and long, slim trousers. She looks like some kind of scientist who is so obsessed with her research she doesn’t sleep.

Her gaze is severe. “Cadet Kogane, I am Doctor Laurens of the Biosecurity Faculty. I would like to ask you some questions.”

Keith regards her warily. “ _Biosecurity_?”

Rather than explaining, she hands him an enclosed envelope instead. It’s stamped by Iverson and a few other senior officers he doesn’t recognise. He opens it. It’s a letter – an order, requiring him to attend an appointment with this Doctor Laurens. At precisely this time.

Something doesn’t sit well in his gut. It’s lights out already. If there’s anything they need to ask him, can’t they do it during daytime hours? It must be urgent if they’re insisting this appointment happens now, unless…

…unless it’s something they’d prefer to keep under the radar. Keith’s apprehension grows. It must show on his face, because Dr Laurens cuts him off before he can raise any questions.

“It won’t take too much of your time. Now, if you will follow me…” Dr Laurens takes a step to the side, in the general direction of the Biology sector. She watches Keith closely as he cautiously emerges from his room and shuts the door behind him. “I will answer any questions you may have once we’re at my office.”

Keith’s eyebrows furrow. “Yes, ma’am.”

The Biosecurity Faculty is at the far end of the complex near the aircraft hangars. Keith supposes it’s a logical location to have it, since they’d be able to intercept any potential threat at the Garrison institute’s main borders. The aircraft stationed at this end are primarily for transporting materials internationally. Cargo pilots often receive internships flying the massive carriers across the globe, however it’s less of a scholarship thing now than it is an international need for aid in the wake of the outbreak in civil wars and climate change. With increased global travel comes increased risk of invasive species arriving at the Garrison. Keith remembers that much from Year One.

The walk takes a good ten minutes. The whole time Dr Laurens is silent, the click-clack of her heels the only noise in the quiet corridors. Keith notices his own footsteps have gone quiet, each step softened subconsciously. Nervousness pricks him in the back of the neck. He only goes stealth mode like this when he’s creeping back to his room after lights out, late from refusing to end the simulation before he’s finished the flight course.  

_Why am I being called to Biosecurity?_ It doesn’t sit well with Keith, that last word. He’s a pilot. He’s done all the biological studies required for his course and he passed them all. Then he thinks of the letter stuffed in his pocket.

Iverson. Then it clicks.

The knife.

“Is this about my knife?” Keith asks as Dr Laurens ushers him inside the Biosecurity sector doors.

He follows her past administration, waiting for an answer. She glances over her shoulder at him but doesn’t reply. Her expression is unreadable. They walk down several hallways, passing through a couple of double doors which Dr Laurens uses her passcode to unlock.

_This is weird._ And then a second thought, more disturbing than the first. _I shouldn’t be here._

Keith knows something’s up. They just passed the office marked as ‘Dr Judith Laurens’ and the lady up ahead just keeps walking. They pass into what appears to be some kind of foyer for a research department. He’s too late clarifying this thought in his mind. Dr Laurens opens an unmarked door for him.

“Please wait inside here,” she says. “I just need to get some things.”

Keith hears footsteps behind him, but before he can look over his shoulder to see who it is, Dr Laurens presses a hand on his back and shoves him into the room. Keith freezes. The room isn’t very big, and it’s empty.

“Hey – “

The door shuts behind him with a click. Keith’s eyes widen in dawning horror. He spins around and slams his hand down on the door handle and – _it’s locked_.

On the other side of the door, there’s a second lot of footsteps approaching, accompanied by a gruff voice that sounds alarmingly like Iverson’s.

“You have him?”

“Yes, sir. Kogane is detained, sir.”

… _detained?_

Keith dimly realises what that means. His heart’s beating way too fast, his feet itching to fly.

_Get out of here._

_Now. Run._

_Get out of here!_

But there’s nowhere to run. The only exit is the door he came in. It’s locked and outside it’s being guarded. He takes a breath, tries suppress the panic before he starts hyperventilating and his movements become clumsy. This door. It’s his only way out.

Who cares what consequences await him? Keith’s getting out of here. Fast. As soon as this door opens, he’s gapping it. He’s getting out of this disturbing place, out of the Garrison. He’ll flee to town, find the police – oh great, they’re on the other side of town – it's fine, he’ll just run hard. Actually, fleeing into the desert’s probably his best bet. If he can get to his hovercraft in time –

The door opens. Keith barges into Doctor Laurens, shoving her out of the doorway. He swears. Iverson’s here too. As is another woman, some medtech.

Keith’s heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Trouble.

_Trouble._

_GET OUT OF HERE!_

Iverson grabs him by the arm and yanks him back. Keith flails, tries to kick and punch himself free. Laurens secures his other arm and twists it behind his back. They ram him mercilessly against the corridor wall, Laurens pinning him there while Iverson holds his other arm painfully outstretched against the wall.

“What are you doing?!” Keith shouts, stuggling. He tries to twist free but only strains his shoulders more. “What are you doing to me?”

They don’t answer, just hold him firm. Keith senses movement behind him and, out of nowhere, there’s an oxygen mask being slung over his face. He freaks, desperately tries to knock it off. The third person – the medtech – clamps her hands on his head, one to keep the mask in place and the other hard on the side of his head. Keith kicks at her but she won’t relinquish her grasp.

The office he’s in is too far from the main corridors for anyone to hear his cries for help, hear the scuffling and his muffled shouts. He can’t move his head, can’t see if anyone’s nearby to see him, but a shadow catches his eye and he notices a professor in a lab coat watching.

Watching. And doing nothing.

Keith’s terrified to the bone. His panic is frightening. All of this is real; it’s not some nightmare. It’s real and it’s terrifying and _God, what are they doing to me?_

It’s not just oxygen pumping through that tube connected to the mask. He realises this when he feels the strength ebb from his muscles and his eyelids start to slip shut. Even the truckload of adrenaline his body’s producing is no match for the sedative.

He manages to pull together one final, distinct thought: this is the research facility. 

Keith’s heart dips. He understands now. He wants to be sick.

...

_He’s the research._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this…it makes my stomach churn with every sentence. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your comments and your interest in this chilling story :)  
> Hope you, uh, /enjoy/ this next chapter! (as much as the plot allow it...)

_Run…_

_…get out of here._

His mind’s all muddled and his body’s a mess of unresponsiveness. Keith fights it, tries to wake up because he has to _run,_ they're insane people – he needs to get away from them.

He has no idea how long it’s been. The room he wakes in has no windows, only a single door. The walls are white, the floor is off-white, the lights are white… _this is some kind of lab._ He has no memory of being carried in here. The last he remembers was being pressed against that wall in the corridor and that biosecurity lady was there, and Iverson and some medtech and _shoot, they put him under._

Keith’s panic is all it takes. The fight-or-flight responses of his body kick in and all of a sudden there’s enough adrenaline to drive his sloppy muscles into action. He raises his head, fighting off the dizziness and the messed up tilting of the room. He’s a little shocked to find he’s not wearing his Garrison clothing anymore, only a plain pair of grey shorts. Anger. He hates being so exposed. With a frustrated growl, he pushes himself into a roll and –

He tumbles over the bed rails and collapses in a heap on the floor below. The sedative hasn’t worn off much, so there’s little he can do to soften the landing for himself. Keith sucks in a breath, closes his eyes a moment. This is so screwed up. What the heck are they doing to him? Why…?

_The knife. They have my knife. Iverson insisted it ‘wasn’t from around here’, whatever that’s supposed to mean._

Something clicks in Keith’s brain. _No way…does he really think it’s not from Earth?_

He picks himself up off the floor, slowly, unsteadily. That’s got to be the only explanation for all this. Keith knows that Iverson hates him, and he can’t say he feels any different towards the guy, Commander or not. It’s only been two weeks since he punched Iverson in the face but he’s surprised he didn’t get expelled the same day.

 _Oh right,_ Keith realises dryly. _It’s because they’re interested in my knife. They kept me around because they got interested in me, too._

No wonder Iverson had been looking at him so strangely.

As he scrambles for the door, he feels his strength come ebbing back. Keith drops into a crawl until he can reach the door handle, then he curls his fingers around it and uses it as leverage to swing himself up to his feet. He gives it a rough shake. As expected it’s locked. He looks around for something he could use to open it before realising there’s no way to unlock it from the inside. It’s not a door that requires keys, it’s one that requires a passcode and an ID card. All the rooms he’d passed yesterday had keypads on the walls beside the door.

At least, he hoped it had only been yesterday.

_Great. Just great._

There’s an urgency that comes with feeling so weak. He’s vulnerable if he’s weak, especially like this. They did it to him on _purpose._ They held him there, they sent that Laurens lady after him, they waited until after lights out before she came to get him _purposefully_ so that they’d be no witnesses. If they had been any, they would’ve seen Keith walking with an officer – nothing strange about that since he got in trouble often anyway.

Keith slams himself against the door, yanks on the door handle, braces a foot on the door and pulls at the handle with all his mind. He collapses on the floor with a grunt of frustration. He’s disturbed to hear the hint of a whimper rising in his throat. Keith throws himself at the door again. No one’s going to notice he’s gone. If they do, they’ll just think he got expelled or something. If he doesn’t get out of here himself, no one’s going to be coming for him.  

The door opens.

Keith recovers quickly from the shock and puts everything he has into barrelling into the man in the lab coat barricading his exit. But the doctor’s stronger than he is in this state. Keith’s no match for him, even in this frenzy.

“Let me out,” Keith hisses. “Get out of the way. Now!”

He throws a punch at the guy’s face but the doctor blocks it calmly, grabs his wrist and takes a step forward.

“Hey,” he says, the hint of a scowl pulling at his lips. “Stop the racket.”

Keith tears his wrist free and rams a shoulder in the doctor’s gut. A thrill of satisfaction washes over him at the doctor’s grunt of pain, but it’s quickly dampened when a pair of hands hit him in the chest and push him back into the centre of the room. Keith’s head snaps to the side as a palm strikes his cheek.

“Stop that,” the doctor growls. He glares at Keith like he’s some kind of misbehaving dog.

Keith finds his balance, takes a step back and – the doctor’s on him in an instant. The momentum carries Keith the last few steps to the bed, where his knees hit the edge and falls on his back over the railing. He’s held there, his feet still supporting his weight but his shoulders pinned to the medical bed and the railing hard against the small of his back.

Keith grits his teeth and kicks at the doctor. “Get off me!”

But the man’s standing out of range for any of Keith’s futile kicks to land anywhere sensitive. He twists as he is to call over his shoulder, “Can I get some back up in here, please?”

“No! No, let me go. Get off me!”

The doctor ignores him. A few seconds later footsteps come hurrying down the corridor and a young woman appears in the doorway. Her eyes flash as she takes in the situation, but she doesn’t hesitate before advancing towards the two of them.

The nurse leans down and grabs a hold of Keith’s ankles in her cold hands. “One, two, three…”

With the doctor suddenly behind him and his hands under Keith’s arms, they lift him up and over the railing. Panic surges through Keith’s veins, the adrenaline coursing faster. He struggles, put the doctor’s hands are replaced firmly on his shoulders and no matter how hard he tries he can’t shake him off. He only has a moment to register one of the nurse’s hands leaving his ankle before it’s back and she’s wrapping something tight around it.

Keith thrashes. NO, NO, NO.

He can’t let this happen. He can’t let them tie him down.

There’ll be no escaping. There’ll be no escaping. There’ll be no escaping.

There’s no escaping.

He can’t breathe.

“No, get off me! Get off me!”

Once his ankles are secured to the vertical metal bars of the railing, the nurse’s hands leave him and she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a couple more strips of material. Keith shrieks at her. He rakes his fingers down the doctors arms like claws, vainly tries to yank his big hands from his shoulders. The nurse snatches Keith’s left hand and pulls it down to the side of the bed.

No, no, no, NO –

His left wrist also secured to the railing, the nurse moves to the other side of the bed and takes his right hand. Keith feels every heartbeat of the material winding around his wrist, the sickening knowing that as the two ends of the fabric are pulled tight and the last knot knotted…he’s not getting out of here.

But he can still do some damage. The doctor relinquishes his hold on Keith’s shoulders. Keith seizes the moment, propels himself upwards and knocks his head into the doctor’s. The doctor swears. That glare is back in his eyes. He turns to the nurse and nods.

Keith watches the nurse go in horror. She’s going off to fetch something, he knows. He yanks on his arms, as if the material’s going to rip and he can somehow tear himself free of the restraints before she returns. The knots are tight and the material’s tough. The doctor has his hands on Keith’s shoulders again and he holds him down, leaning his weight into the heels of his hands.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the doctor mutters. “You should’ve realised that already.”

The nurse brings back a collar. Keith’s eyes widen in terror.

“No! No, you – _don’t! Aargghhhihh!”_

The collar is fastened around his neck, his hair catching in the buckle at the front. Two – they might as well be called leads – _leads_ are clipped on, one on either side of the collar where the small metallic loops are. The ends of the leads are tethered to the two corner posts of the bed behind his head.

If only this was a nightmare. The sweat plastering his hair to his temples tells him it’s most definitely not. There’s a mask placed over his face, the strap pulled over his head and fastened. The nurse’s hands are ice on his cheeks, her fingers cold points on his brow. The mask itself doesn’t need to be held in place, but Keith’s head still does.

Once the gas reduces his shouts to slurs of protest, the doctor leaves his side. Now with the collar around his neck, Keith can’t move around much anyway, if at all. It doesn’t take much effort for the nurse to hold him there.

There’s someone else in the hallway, now, besides the doctor.

“We’ll get testing underway when he’s calmer,” Laurens says. “We can start setting up in the meantime."

_No…_

In another two minutes, Keith’s under the mercy of the sedative again.

 

Nothing much has changed when he comes to. He’s still tied down, the collar still around his neck. The mask is still on his face, still pumping that sedative gas into his lungs but not enough to make him sleep.

 _They want me awake…_ Keith realises.

Then he registers the stinging of a needle in the crook of his right arm and network of adhesive sensors stuck on his bare chest. The needle’s in there to keep his fluids up, he guesses, but the monitors… He tries to get his foggy brain to think. _What’s up with the monitors?_

_“We’ll get the testing underway when he’s calmer…”_

Oh. No.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Keith starts. He scrambles to get away from the voice but his body’s heavy and he’s so restrained he can barely move. Laurens is sitting in a chair beside him with a laptop in her lap. He flashes her the fiercest, fire-fuelled gaze he can manage but it feels so weak and powerless he feels stupid.

Laurens raises an eyebrow, peering at him over her reading glasses. “Now, don’t give me that look. If we could trust you to settle down a little and let us do what we need to without so much hassle, we wouldn’t need to have you strapped down like this, would we?”

Keith gives the restraints on his wrists a distressed tug. “Why’re ‘ou ‘oing this ‘o me?”

Laurens doesn’t reply. She decides that his response means he’s awake enough, apparently. She stands up, setting down her laptop on the chair, swaps the mask on his face with a different one then leaves with her laptop tucked under arm.

This mask has wires running through the transparent tube, some kind of recording device as opposed to a diffuser kind. If it weren’t for the sedative, Keith’s panic would be skyrocketing twice as hard as it already is.

The tests. They’re starting the tests.

For at least fifteen minutes, Keith’s left to freak out before anything actually happens. He doesn’t notice that the test has started at first. Then he starts getting cold. Goosebumps spread over his bare skin – how he wished he had _clothes_ – and shortly after that he begins to shiver. It’s when his jaw starts quivering beneath the mask that he realises what the first must be.

They’re trying to see how resistant he is to the cold.

The air conditioning has been turned right down low. The decline in temperature was gradual, perhaps dropping a degree or two every five minutes, but now it’s freezing. He’s shaking so hard that it hurts. His hands are balled into fists, his shoulders are trembling and his feet are jerking left and right. There’s a point at which the temperature isn’t lowered anymore, but it’s not raised yet either.

Keith tells himself that he’s just got to keep breathing. He can’t curl up in a ball, he can’t go find some warm clothes and put them on, he can’t have a nice hot coffee to ward away the cold and the terror and the stress and the _nightmare_ … He’s just got to keep breathing. He’s just got to wait it out.

He’s kept in these conditions for an hour. The test is then repeated, but in reverse; the temperature is slowly raised until it’s so _hot_ that Keith wishes they’d just kept him in the numbing cold. Sweat beads on his forehead and runs down the side of his face and he wants to wipe it away with the back of his hand but he can’t because his wrist is tied to the railing.

What is he but an experiment to them? There’s no questions being asked here like Laurens said there will be, only the one for which they brought him here to experiment on for an answer. They’re treating him like an animal and the worst thing is that he’s powerless to do anything about it. He can’t fight back, can’t defend himself and there’s no one to help him. No one cares, no one cares if he’s gone, no one’s even going to _notice_ that he’s gone because _nobody cares about him and…_

Keith loses it. He can’t do this. It’s not only sweat running down his face now but tears too. His chest heaves as he tries to breathe in between the hot air and the sobs raking his body.

This is only the beginning. This isn’t going to be the only ‘test’ they do. He knows it, and the prospect is terrifying.

 

“Sir.”

Lance salutes as Commander Iverson walks past. He can’t keep the grin off his face.

When Iverson had called Lance to his office yesterday, he’d thought he’d gotten in trouble for something, or there was something wrong with his grades or something, but no, that wasn’t it at all. Then Iverson had handed him the letter and explained that after a certain student had been expelled, he’d been moved up a class.

Fighter-class. He’s a fighter-class pilot now, thanks to Keith washing out. Lance can’t believe it.

Something doesn’t stick with him. There’s a slow dip in his gut as he lowers his arm and continues on his way to the simulator to meet up with his new crew. Lance frowns. He can’t put a finger on it and it’s bothering him.

Was it the fact that, of all cargo pilots to choose from, Iverson had chosen him? No. What about Keith getting expelled? Nah, that guy got in trouble all the time. Lance would bet what little money he had that it was Keith who was responsible for Iverson’s eye. Then what…?

It strikes him like the ear-piercing screech of a microphone too close to the sound system, or the creaking of a door in the dead of night. Like rain on a clear day, it hits him.

Keith…had been expelled, right? They why had Lance seen Iverson carrying a transparent bag just now, containing what had _unmistakeably_ been Keith’s red jacket in it? That hadn’t been the only item in the bag. It had had his whole set of casual clothes…including his boots.

Lance doesn’t realise he’s stopped dead in his tracks until his two crewmates catch up to him.  

“Uh, Lance? Why’re you standing in the middle of the corridor looking like you just realised that the Earth isn’t flat?”

He blinks, a smile automatically forming on his face. “Oh, hi, Pidge.”

Hunk slaps him on the back. “Hey, pilot. Something the matter?”

“What?” Lance’s mouth has gone dry. It takes a great amount of effort to keep smiling. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just was, uh, thinking about stuff.”

“You sure, man?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Lance suppresses his misgivings, ruffles Pidge’s scruffy hair and marches ahead of him and Hunk before they notice his fake smile slipping. “Come on, let’s hit the simulator!”

But he can’t shake the feeling that something’s amiss. Keith wouldn’t have left the Garrison without first changing out of his Garrison uniform and exchanging them for his own clothes. Lance crashes the simulator a few times just thinking about it.

Though he doesn’t exactly know what his gut feeling is telling him, he knows the core of it and it’s rather unsettling: something’s happened to Keith and he sure didn't just get expelled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh thanks so much for your guy's comments! Sorry I'm not replying to any - I can't think of anything to say in words and I'm not too familiar with how to do emojis with text beside the classic smiley, crying and wow face. I'm so glad you all are enjoying this story!! 
> 
> Quick chapter post since my head's full of science and half of that science happens to be, yes, Biosecurity. It's quite a depressing paper in general, what with all the destruction invasive species can cause in an ecosystem and how little we can do to eradicate some of these species once they're established, but in the context of this story, it's just super chilling. This week at Uni we've been studying prevention and treatment, and since the term IAS (lit. 'invasive alien species') reminds me of the Galra Empire everytime it hear/read it, I haven't been able to get the disturbing idea out of my head regarding biosecurity concepts applied to Keith. 
> 
> Aaaaaannnnyways, Chapter 3!!  
> (Also, it feels really weird writing Pidge as 'he', but since Lance had no idea that Pidge was actually Katie Holt, I'll be referring to her as 'he'.)

The terrible screeching noise that’s playing through the speakers shatters the last of Keith’s ability to hold it together. He adds his own screams to the noise, in some awful off-pitch harmony. It’s the best he can do to shut it out, to dampen the ringing in his ears. He presses an ear against his shoulder and yells, the humming of his own voice cancelling out a bit of the frequency’s piercing height.

_Adaptations. Sensitivity. Environment. Climate. Blade. Metal. Increase. Frequency._

Keith screams. Laurens doesn’t hear him; her noise-cancelling headphones cancel everything.

_Not. Extra-terrestrial. IAS. Adaptations. Environment. Threat. Risk. Invasive Alien Species. Planetary security. Test completed._

The noise cuts off and the silence left in its wake is deafening. Keith gulps down air, trying to subdue his terror. He’s crying again. Hyperventilating. Laurens doesn’t care. She removes the headphones from her ears, taps something on her tablet and exits the room.

Keith lets out a long, frustrated howl. Let them record that for analysis too.

 

It’s not only Iverson who’s giving Lance the disappointed scowl. Pidge and Hunk stand square in front of him, arms crossed. Hunk doesn’t look as annoyed as Pidge, more concerned than anything, but Lance knows he’s not getting evading their curiosity this time.

“Hey, man,” Hunk says. “Look, I know we all stuff up from time to time. We all have our bad days. But do you care explaining?”

“Huh?” Lance knows what he’s guilty of but he tries to play it off anyway. “What are you talking about? Explain what?”

If Pidge were a bird, he’d be seagull squawking its head off at him right now. “ _Lance_. You keep spacing out. You crashed the simulator five times in a row at the same checkpoint.”

Lance shrugs. “Just saying, Pidge, isn’t that why we’re here at the Garrison? To space out?”

“No, now’s not the time for jokes.” Hunk unfolds his arms. “Something’s bothering you, man. Out with it.”

Glancing between them, Lance realises he’s got no hope of backing his way out of this one. He sighs, sneaks a look left and right up and down the corridor and leans forward slightly.

“I’ve just been having this _weird_ feeling,” he says, lowering his voice. “Weird as in, it’s like something out of the ordinary’s happening right under our noses and no one’s noticing.”

Pidge’s eyes flash. “Like what?”

Lance considers carefully. Break is about to end in a few minutes and they’ve all got classes scheduled for the rest of the afternoon. Not enough time. There’s also a lot of cadets, tutors and commanders wandering around at this hour. Not safe enough. He’s probably going crazy, but if what his gut is telling him is correct, then he can’t risk his suspicions being overhead by somebody who’s _in_ on the happenings.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says lightly. “I think I’m just a bit paranoid or anxious or something. You know, since it’s _Keith’s_ shoes I need to fill…”

Lance places the emphasis where it’s needed. Pidge, always with the sharp intelligence of a conspiracy theorist, catches on quickly. He narrows his eyes. Hunk glances between them as though waiting for an explanation. Before he can ask for one, Pidge looks at him and tilts his head towards Lance. He then fixes his bright eyes on Lance.

“Your room,” Pidge decides. “After mess.”

Lance nods. Hunk does, too.

The warning sounds for ten minutes before the afternoon lectures are due to begin. Lance flashes them a grateful smile as they all start making their way in the general direction of their classes.

“Thanks, guys.”

Hunk smiles back, still looking a bit lost. Pidge waves his hand, his face screwed up in thought at Lance’s concern. They walk the distance to their classes in silence, parting ways without another word.

Lance sits down at his allocated desk and runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

 

Out of the assortment of masks the Biosecurity department seem to have comes another. The sedative mask is replaced not with the wiry one this time, but a black rubber one. It fits snug over the bridge of Keith’s nose, the rounded sides of it pressing into his cheeks. The nurse from before is assigned to make sure everything’s in order for the next test that awaits him, not Laurens. The nurse’s hands are still cold. Keith’s blood runs cold as he mentally prepares himself for whatever’s coming.

The mask seals against his face, fastened by elastic string which the nurse has tightened around his head. The pressure of the rubber on his nose is uncomfortable and the air inside the mask stale. It’s harder to draw air with this on. There’s two tubes connected to it, one with wires for receiving and recording, the other to feed oxygen to him. Keith wonders what this is about, though, since he highly doubts they’re going to release any gases into the room and since there’s no filters attached to the…

Oh. They’re going to release the gas _into the mask._

Keith can’t hold back the whimper of terror. _No…_

He shakes his head, tries to get the thing off his face using his shoulders and the collar and the leads as something to rub against, but it’s no use, it’s helpless. He knows it’s pointless, he knows it’s futile, but he kicks and struggles against everything binding him. There’s not enough air to draw from with this stupid thing on. He needs to get it off.

It gets progressively harder to breathe. Keith only struggles more. His efforts get more desperate, his lungs more desperate, his brain more desperate. He can’t breathe properly. He’s hyperventilating, he should try calm himself and it might be easier on him. No, it wouldn’t. It’s not him – it’s the mask. It’s the mask. It’s the reason he can’t breathe. There’s not enough oxygen in the mask.

It’s not about pumping gas into the mask, it’s about reducing how much is pumped in.

It’s about reducing the oxygen.

It’s about –

 _They’re_ killing _him. And they’re recording it, too. These_ sick _scientists - !_

Keith cries out, chokes on his breath. His lungs scream and burn as the oxygen lessens and lessens. He’s gasping like a fish out of the water.

_Tests. Precautions._

_Expendable. Alien. Measures. Necessary. Potential. Risk. Cryptogenic. Identify. More research needed._

His grows light, his body heavy, his chest torn and empty.

_More research needed._

_More research needed._

Keith passes out.

 

“So,” Pidge says, plonking himself down on Lance’s bed and pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. “Tell us.”

Hunk closes the door behind him and walks over to lean against the corner post of the bunk. “Yeah. What’s this about Keith? Pidge won’t tell me.”

Lance stands in front of them, praying these two don’t start thinking he’s bonkers after he tells them this, else it’ll be a great start to their crewsmanship or whatever the word is. He’s spent the whole afternoon switching between note-taking and paying attention and thinking about how on earth to explain his misgivings. He drew no conclusions and missed a great deal of notes he’s going to have to catch up on later.

“Alright,” he says. “Call me crazy, but I…I think something’s happened to Keith.”

The excited tension in Pidge’s shoulders drops. “Yeah,” he says dryly. “He got expelled.”

“No, no. I don’t think he did.”

Hunk raises a hand in interjection. “Lance, no offense, but you do remember how happy you were that you got to take the place Keith getting expelled left you?”

“Yes, yes, I know – ”

“And have you _seen_ him around lately?” Pidge adds. “’Cause I sure haven’t. We used to have physics together. He’s not there anymore. Gone. Hunk?”

“Guys…”

“Nope,” Hunk agrees. “Haven’t seen him either.”

“Guys, shut up!”

There’s a startled silence in the room. Lance takes a deep breath, cooling himself.

“I’m serious,” he says evenly. “This morning I saw Iverson with a bag of Keith’s clothes. Now, if Keith had really been expelled, you’d think he’d have left the Garrison in his own clothes, right?”

Hunk’s face is blank. “Yeah…”

“Are you sure it was Keith’s clothes you saw?” Pidge raises an eyebrow. “You’re not just seeing things all of a sudden because you’ve been thinking about how happy you are he’s not around anymore?”

_‘...how happy you are he’s not around anymore.’_

Lance feels sick. His gut yowls, not of hunger, not of an upset stomach. Of dread.

“No,” he says. “I know what I saw. I’d recognise that Mullet’s jacket anywhere.”

Hunk casts a sidelong glance at Pidge. “He’s right. Keith’s the only one around here with a jacket like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the only one in all America with a jacket like that.”

Pidge smirks. “Neither.”

Then a sudden seriousness dawns on Hunk’s face. “Wait a minute,” he says, looking back at Lance with a frown. “You said you saw Iverson with Keith’s clothes _today_?”

Lance nods. “Yeah, this morning.”

“But Keith was expelled a week ago.”

Pidge isn’t smirking any longer. The tension in the room is back. Hunk stops leaning against the bunks and stands up straight, his arms folded.

“You don’t think he was expelled at all,” Hunk murmurs. “Do you?”

Lance doesn’t move, only keeps his eyes locked with Hunk’s, dead serious. Pidge swings his legs off the bed. The footsteps passing in the corridor outside sound like beats of a snare drum. The revelation of possible conspiracy taking place at the Garrison feels like plucking the strings of a guitar when the capo’s not on properly.

There’s a dangerous glint in Pidge’s eyes, something that tells Lance he’s got up to a lot of mischief hacking into these kinds of covered up matters before. Hunk regards Lance with a deep seriousness, accompanied by a solemn resolve which speaks of the unspoken agreement taking place among the three of them right then and there.

They’re going to look into this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' - Edmund Burke.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kudos and comments! I'm really happy people are enjoying and are excited to read this story :D  
> For those of you who are wondering, don't worry - Laurens sure ain't keeping her job at the end of this. There's a certain place called 'jail' ahead of her.
> 
> In the meantime, while things are still 'under the radar', Chapter 4!  
> (Ps, I'm half-asleep and so there may be a missing word or two which has escaped my proof-reading. Apologies.)

Pidge Gunderson hacks into the Garrison’s security feeds. Lance had figured he was a bit of a tech nerd, but this guy…he’s a genius. In the space of a couple of hours of sitting on the floor around his laptop, they’ve pulled up a roll of student attendance and security camera footage of the last known day Keith was seen in the halls. Lance’s two roommates have an evening class scheduled, so they still have an hour of secrecy left to themselves. They’re hoping that’s enough time to gather decent intel.

Hunk frowns at the screen of Pidge’s laptop. “So, according the rolls, Keith attended all his classes one day and the next, he just disappeared? Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“What I’m confused about,” Lance says, “is that he didn’t get expelled after punching Iverson. That was like, three weeks ago or something? If they were going to expel him, it would’ve been then, not two weeks later.”

Hunk nods. “Yeah. If they were going to kick him out of the Garrison, they wouldn’t have done it randomly one night a couple of weeks after it happened. So, we know what day he _was_ here and from what day he wasn’t – Pidge, can you find out which class he had last?”

“Already on it.” Pidge taps the screen and a timetable appears on screen under Keith’s name. “Last class on Wednesday…flight training in the simulators.”

Lance grunts. “He definitely wouldn’t have skipped that one.”

“And we know from the rolls that he was there,” Hunk agrees.

“Right, so we need to find where he went after that. Any luck with the cameras, Pidge?”

Pidge is typing away at the keyboard furiously. He doesn’t reply, just squints at the screen, pulls up another video file and presses play. The time in the bottom right hand corner says it’s footage from the day Keith last attended any classes. Pidge skips through the video, waits while it buffers and brings it to a minute before evening class is due to end. They all stare at the double doors leading to the simulators. There’s no audio, so they don’t hear it when the bell sounds, but they see it when the time ticks over and students start filing out. Soon the crowd has completely dispersed, but there’s still no sign of Keith.

“Uh, did we get the right file?” Hunk asks, rubbing his forehead.

Lance feels a slow burning disappointment. He’d thought they were on to something. They don’t have many leads except this and Iverson. Any hope in finding out what happened to Keith lies solely in what they can find out from the cameras and accessible files. Iverson isn’t likely to be of any help, so it’s vital they find at least _something_.

Pidge hastens the speed of the video. Fifteen minutes later in video time, one student bobs out of the simulation room. Pidge keeps the video playing at that speed, hand hovering over the space bar. He waits, watching closely, patiently.

“Aha!” He taps the space bar quickly and rewinds the video a couple of seconds.

It’s Keith. It’s definitely him. The time shows that it’s already almost lights out before he leaves the simulators. _He probably stayed behind to practice some of the advanced courses,_ Lance thinks. The three of them watch as Keith walks calmly out the doors, probably heading back to his bunk since it’s nigh on curfew. He’s in the camera’s view for seven seconds and then gone again.

Pidge finds which room Keith used to be in and finds the video file containing footage of that corridor on that day. Lance half-expects that Keith doesn’t make it to his room, but he does. He exchanges a confused glance with Hunk but Pidge stays focused on the video in the screen in front of them.

An officer arrives at Keith’s door. Lance recognises her attire as one that the research scientists wear. She knocks on the door and Keith comes out, still in Garrison uniform. The officer hands him something which Keith reads over, then he’s following her down the corridor, the door to his room clicking shut behind him. Pidge keeps the video playing. Keith doesn’t return. He opens up the next file, hastens the video and the three of them watch, holding their breaths. Morning comes. Keith doesn’t.

Pidge pauses the video. He leans back, his face grim. “You weren’t wrong, Lance.”

Lance can’t take his eyes off the corridor. “Play it.” His voice is thin. “He might come back.”

With a raised eyebrow, Pidge hits the space bar. Lance already knows there’s not going to be any sign of Keith. He didn’t attend any classes on that day. He disappeared in his Garrison clothes, leaving his own behind for Iverson to pick up later. Students mill around in the corridor but Keith’s not among them. Doors open and shut but Keith’s stays closed.

“Can you track them?” Lance asks.

Pidge closes the video they’re watching and narrows his eyes. It takes another five minutes to find the correct camera further down the corridor. Keith’s still with the officer lady. Pidge chases them up the halls, camera after camera. Forty minutes of footage finding and viewing later, Keith disappears into the Biosecurity department of all places. Lance’s stomach dips when Iverson shows up in the video a minute later. The three of them have their eyes glued to the screen as they wait for what happens next. Iverson comes back out the doors. Late into the night the officer who accompanied Keith down the corridors also comes out. The video ends. Pidge opens the following one. It’s soon apparent, the reason why Keith never returned to his bunk room – he never came out of the Biosecurity department doors in the first place.

A stunned silence befalls them. Pidge is staring at the screen still, but his eyes aren’t focused on it. Lance has a hard time settling the sickening feeling in his belly. His gut was right. He wishes it wasn’t. Beside him, Hunk is equally as stunned, his face pale.

Hunk is the first to speak. “What do you think this means?”

Anger gleams in Pidge’s eyes. “I’m gonna find out.”

Pidge’s expression is so fierce and confidant that Lance feels his confidence rub off on him. If Pidge can really find out what’s going on here, then maybe the situation’s not as hopeless as it seems. They’re only cadets, so unless they have concrete evidence that Keith’s in trouble and being held against his will, they’re powerless to do anything. But with Pidge being this excellent a hacker…

Hunk’s peering at the time on the laptop’s screen. “Guys, we’re going to have company any minute. We better pack up and get out of here before we’re caught looking suspicious.”

“ _You’re_ the only one who’ll look suspicious.” Lance grunts. “You’re too much a goody-two-shoes to successfully put on an act of innocence.”

Hunk chuckles, though given the chilling revelation they’ve just come across, there’s not much mirth in it. “Precisely why I intend to get out of here before your roommates get back here. Pidge?”

Hating being pulled away from his digging now that he’s finally found a lead, Pidge groans and reluctantly begins closing the multitude of tabs and windows. “Fine.”

The laptop shuts down and the screen turns black a second before the keypad on the door beeps. Lance’s roommates are back.

“Ah, that was a good movie!” Pidge exclaims, grinning. He fakes a yawn as the two other cadets enter the room. He tucks his laptop under his arm. “Oh, hey guys. Come on, Hunk. Let’s give these guys their room back.”

Hunk nods, smiling sheepishly. He waves at Lance before ducking out the door after Pidge. Lance waves back and picks himself up off the floor, getting out of his roomates’ way.

He spends the next half hour pretending he wasn’t just hacking into Garrison security and off-limits materials with his simulation team for the last three hours. It’s seriously disturbing, how easily all this happened, how easily Keith disappeared and without them really noticing anything strange. Lance had thought it was odd, the timing of Keith’s expulsion. It didn’t entirely make sense, but it wasn’t really his business and so he’d not given it too much thought. Not until he’d seen Iverson carrying Keith’s clothes.

Though he tries not to let his imagination wander, Lance can’t help it. He can’t get off his mind what might have happened had he not crossed paths with Iverson today. He can’t stop feeling grateful for Hunk and Pidge, that they believed him when he voiced his misgivings and that Pidge was willing to do the illegal and hack into Garrison security for them.

Three hours after lights out and Lance still can’t sleep. He can’t sleep because his mind’s running wild with the possibility of Keith not being able to sleep either. Of Keith, locked up and helpless. Keith, stolen from the world and tormented by what Lance can only describe as imprisonment. Worst of all is not knowing what’s happening to him.

Lance had been glad to see Keith go. Now he’s desperate to find him again.

 

Keith doesn’t sleep. He has no idea if it’s night or day, only that he’s alone, his stomach hurts and he’s in pain.

They fed him some kind of poison. He knew he shouldn’t have let them, but Laurens kind of forced the stuff down his throat so it’s not like he had a choice. The pain started as a minor ache in his stomach, but in a matter of hours it increased tenfold. Every breath he takes sends a flare of pain shooting through his abdomen. Keith’s not sure what’s worse: lying awake with his stomach in constant agony or passing out from lack of oxygen. That last test had been terrifying, but this…this he can’t escape from. This is as much ‘torture’ as the last test had been.

He’s pleaded with the nurse to untie him because his stomach _hurts_ and all he wants to do is curl up in a tight ball on his side, but she says he can’t be trusted. That’s all she says, that he can’t be trusted. To stay put. To behave. To not try to escape. She comes in to check on his condition twice a day, Laurens once to collect data and do some brief monitoring herself, and the doctor once or twice during the period of time neither the nurse nor Laurens is available.

That’s his only measure of time. When the doctor’s around, that’s when Keith knows it’s night or early morning. Tonight, as it turns out, he can’t sleep either. The pain in his gut is as merciless as Laurens and her sick research team.

A fever creeps over him on what he guesses is day three. The stomach ache’s gotten worse. If he’d eaten any food, Keith’s sure he’d have diarrhoea by now. The need to roll onto his side becomes too great to bear. He begs the doctor to let him free so he can do so, but the man ignores him. Over and over Keith begs him, pleads, _cries_. The doctor pays him no heed, just watches him writhe on the bed the entire ten minutes he’s in the room.

Day four. The fever reaches Keith’s head. He dissociates, drifts in and out. In and out. The pain and queasiness accompanies him in both consciousness and semi-consciousness. He’s not sure if he sleeps or not. But he dreams. He has visions.

He’s free. He’s hot with the intense heat of the desert, not fever. The stabbing in his stomach’s still there, but he’s not tied down to bed here. He’s free. The wind blows on his face, scorching his skin. The sands are blinding in the sunlight.

_Results. Inconclusive. Fever. Alkaline. Alkaline. Adaptations. Inconclusive. Environment. Diversity. Strange. Nothing. More research needed._

_Inconclusive. More research needed._

Keith takes refuge in a cave. Mysterious carvings cover the walls and ceiling of the cave. These kind of drawings are everywhere in this part of the canyon. They don’t make much sense, and he doesn’t expect them to since he’s dreaming. But every time he drifts into restless sleep he sees the same dream, the same vision of caves and drawings and markings on rocks nearby. Each dream he finds a slightly different drawing, but every single one of them tells a story of a blue lion.

_Inconclusive._

The fever’s getting to his head. There’s no such thing as a blue lion.

When he realises this, he instinctively fights off the dream even though reality is a far worse place to be right now. But something urges him further into the dream. It pulls him deeper and deeper until Keith feels like it’s telling him to search.            This tug in his chest stays with him when he wakes, fading only slightly before he’s plunged back into his feverish semi-consciousness and the energy’s back, stronger and stronger, urging him to search.

 _But I can’t,_ Keith protests. _I physically can’t. I’m trapped here._

The energy is persistent. _Search…_

He sees a panorama of sandstone stacks. The detail of their outline is engrained in his mind.

_More research needed. Inconclusive._

The outline looks like some jagged line.

_Keep running the tests. Inconclusive. More research needed._

Not once do they say his name. Not Keith. Not Kogane. Just ‘he’, like he’s some kind of specimen. At least they’re not calling him ‘it’…

The energy washes over him. It urges him to hang on, to live. It cools the burning fear in his heart, cleanses the overwhelming dread from his mind. He just has to hang on as long as he can. He can’t give up, because this energy is insistent that he live.

_Search…_

_Live. Endure. And then search._

 

Pidge spends the whole Sunday searching. He’s waiting outside Lance’s door on Monday morning, eyes shadowed but remarkably bright.

“Oh, hey.” Lance rubs his eyes. His roommates have already left, those super-duper early birds, but he’s still in his pyjamas. “You’re up early.”

“I found something,” Pidge says, unable to wipe the grin off his face.

There’s still an hour before morning class. Lance beckons Pidge inside, noticing for the first time that the tech genius has his laptop with him.

“Do you want to grab some breakfast first?” Lance suggests. He doesn’t like the idea of getting too caught up in Pidge’s findings that he forgets to eat or runs out of time to do so.

Pidge considers, then shrugs. “Alright. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Sweet, just let me change,” Lance says, already preparing to take his shirt off.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll wait for you outside.”

Before Lance has time to register what just happened, Pidge is gone out the door. _Didn’t think he was such a privacy freak,_ he muses. _Then again, he’s not the first. Keith’s like that, too…_

The amused grin falls from his face as quick as it came. The churning in his stomach is back. Keith. It’s taken a few days for Pidge to find _anything_ useful since Wednesday. Who knows what’s been happening to Keith during that time.

Once in his uniform, Lance joins Pidge and the two of them march off to the mess hall. They scoff down their food, looking around for Hunk as they do so. But they’ve only got another forty minutes and they can’t waste time searching for him. By the time they get back to Lance’s room, there’s only half an hour to spare.

“It’s from Iverson’s office,” Pidge explains. He’s brought the clip up in the space of a minute. “I’ve been watching the feeds from the camera in there for the last few days. There wasn’t anything of interest, but then I came across _this,_ ” he says, pausing to hit play, “taken yesterday evening.”

The video runs a few seconds, just Iverson sitting at his desk mulling over some documents splayed out in front of him. Then the door to his office opens and a medtech walks in.

Lance narrows his eyes. A _medtech._ No, nothing strange about that all. Nothing at all…

The clip has audio. Pidge turns it up a few notches, glances warily at the door and takes the precaution of turning in back down a couple.

“…findings with Mugilidae?” Iverson’s asking the medtech.

The medtech shakes her head. “No, sir. All results we’ve analysed have been inconclusive, sir.”

Iverson mutters something the camera doesn’t pick up and then dismisses the medtech, who salutes and leaves.

Pidge taps the space bar. “That’s it. But it’s pretty sus, if you ask me.”

Lance hums in agreement. “Definitely sus. Who’s...magala…that name Iverson mentioned?”

“I’m not sure.” Pidge looks exhausted all of a sudden. No doubt he probably spent the majority of the night trying to answer that question himself. “I searched the rolls but there’s no one by that name. Not on the tutor or the staff rolls.”

Lance considers this. “Are you sure it’s not a species name or something? The medtech said something about results and it sounds scientific more than anything.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Since when is Iverson interested in biology?”

“Okay, yeah. Good point.”

“Let’s discuss this with Hunk. Maybe he’ll have an idea.” Pidge’s shoulders slump forward. He yawns, shifts his glasses up to rub his eyes. “I’m stumped. My brain is too tired to think anymore.”

Lance nods. “Yeah, let’s see if we can meet up with him at mess for lunch. See what he thinks. I’m pretty braindead myself.”

 

They meet up at mess. Pidge looks like he’s about to crash at any moment, it’s amazing he’s still awake and paying attention to his surroundings, to some degree at least. More than once Lance has had to steer him away from walking straight into someone coming the opposite way down the corridors. It’s Lance, therefore, who raises the question.

“Hunk,” he says, being careful to keep his voice casual yet quiet. Hopefully Hunk takes the hint. “Do you know anyone called Mugilidae?”

Hunk nearly chokes on his food. He stares at them and the dead-serious looks on their faces and bursts out laughing. “Mugilidae?”

Pidge raises an eyebrow, eyes half closed. “What’s so funny?”

Hunk snorts. After another bout of giggling, he calms down enough to explain.

“Mugilidae’s the family name for a fish,” he says. “Family name as in, family, genus, species name.”

Lance frowns, glancing at Pidge. “So I was right.”

 _That’s weird._ _Why would Iverson care to have a medtech approach him about a fish?_

Pidge considers, slurping his juice thoughtfully. “Hunk, what kind of fish is it?”

“Oh, it’s a mullet. They’re commonly used in cuisine.”

Lance’s blood runs cold. “Mullet…”

He locks eyes with Pidge. He might be sleep deprived, but Pidge isn’t so out of it he hasn’t caught on as well.

Hunk’s frown fades fast. “What is it? You guys are making me nervous.”

Pidge is stuffing the rest of his food in his mouth. Lance starts stacking everyone’s dishes. He flashes a warning glance up at Hunk and whispers, “ _Keith._ ”

Hunk’s eyes grow wide. The three of them tidy up without another word and leave the mess hall as quickly and casually as possible. They all power-walk down the corridors, trying their best to not seem so serious but no doubt failing. Lunch break’s going to be over in twenty-five minutes. They don’t have time to act like they’re not up to something. _Keith_ doesn’t have time for them to act like they’re not up to something.

The door closes behind them and Pidge is on his laptop the moment they get back to Lance’s room. They wait, breathlessly, hearts pounding, as Pidge opens up the search program he’s been using to scan Garrison files. Pidge’s recent searches show _‘Keith’_ and _‘Kogane’_. This time he types in _‘Mugilidae’._

 

_1 result found._

_[Mugilidae: Restricted Access]_

Pidge clicks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Heavy whump in this chapter – the worst of it all. Grab-a-coffee kind of whump/angst. Laurens’ research is inconclusive. She’s clutching at straws here.
> 
> Don’t hate me. Pidge is almost in.

_Access denied._

Pidge glares at the screen like it’s personally offended him. “What do you mean, ‘access denied’?”

He bends over the laptop in flurry of flying fingers.

_Access denied._

_Access denied._

Pidge throws his hands in the air with a frustrated shout. Lance has to lean out of the way to avoid getting slapped in the face.

“Hey, Pidge.” Hunk says cautiously. “Talk to us. What’s happening?”

Pidge grimaces and tries again, different codes and combinations typed into the hacking window open on the screen.

_Access denied._

“Gaaahh!” He curls his hands into fists and slams them down on his knees. “Certain measures have been put in place to make unauthorised access impossible. There’s no way I can break into it.”

Lance exchanges a worried glance with Hunk. “This stuff is seriously top secret then, huh.”

“Pidge, can you pull up the security cameras in the Biosecurity area again? Maybe we could see if we can track Keith further?” Hunk suggests.

After giving the access one more shot, Pidge grumbles and diverts his attention to finding the footage they traced yesterday. He finds the video they watched of Keith following the officer lady into the Biosecurity department doors, then minimises the tab and brings up footage from a camera inside the foyer. Keith’s still remaining calm, from what the video shows, and nothing out of the ordinary happens. Nothing out of the ordinary except Keith being called to Biosecurity _after hours_. They follow the pair down a couple of hallways and then the officer lady leads Keith through the doors to the Research Facilities and they’ve lost them.

“I can’t find the camera sources for that area,” Pidge mutters. “I’ve tried a ton of things already, but I can’t even find any documents or recordings or anything. All of it’s locked away in that stupid ‘Mugilidae’ file.”

“You guys realise what this means, right?” Hunk looks between them, receiving only blank faces. “That clip we just watched of Iverson in his office? I don’t think even _he_ knows that all of this is going.”

Pidge huffs. “Hunk, we _saw_ Iverson waltz in there shortly after Keith went in.”

He sifts through the Biosecurity department footage and lets one of the videos run a little longer. Iverson follows the same path that the officer lady and Keith did. With a raised eyebrow and unimpressed stare, Pidge glares at Hunk.

“Okay. Sure, he _knows_ , but what I’m saying,” Hunk explains, “is that he might be being kept out of the loop. If you rewatch the clip of Iverson, he’s asking about what’s going on with Keith and all the medtech gave him was a really vague answer. That’s pretty sus, don’t you think.”

Lance hums in thought. “So what you’re saying is, that lady might have the authority to restrict access to certain peoples and Iverson can’t bridge that.”

Hunk nods vigorously. “He’s a commanding officer and she’s a science officer. I think she might legally have the rights not to disclose information until conclusions can actually be drawn.”

Pidge frowns. “Conclusions on what?”

“On Keith.”

“Yeah, but on what though?”

“They’re using him for research,” Lance whispers. He has to repeat himself so Hunk and Pidge hear his words. “Keith – yeah, hot-tempered, seriously skilled emo pilot Keith – is being used for research. It’s the only explanation.”

Pidge's eyes widen. “But why would they do that? That’s just... that's just sad.”

But Lance just shakes his head. “I don’t know. I knew I had a bad feeling about this, but…”

The warning bell sounds. They have ten minutes to get to class.

Pidge swears. “Grrr. So close!”

Lance stares at the currently inaccessible folder. They need those files. They desperately need those files.

“We’ve got to get him out there,” he murmurs. “Like, now.”

Hunk, however, is quick to raise his hands. “We can’t just go barging in, Lance. If we don’t get that intel, we don’t know what we’re dealing with. We’re already in dangerous territory here. We’ve got to take precautions.”

“Hunk’s right,” Pidge says. “As much as I’d like to go with you and pummel some sick scientists into a pulp, we’ve got be careful. If we blow our cover before we’ve blown theirs, we’re screwed.”

Lance sighs. “You’re right. You’re right. So what now?”

One by one they pick themselves up off the floor, standing in a ‘V’ as they prepare to leave their conspiracies for class.

“I’ll work on it,” Pidge says eventually. “I’ll let you know when I’ve found something, but in the meantime, I suggest we don’t meet up unless it’s for simulation or mess. We don’t want to attract unnecessary attention.”

Hunk and Lance agree. Pidge attempts a ‘don’t-worry, I’ll-figure-something-out’ smile as they part ways for their afternoon lectures, but it quickly fades the second she turns away from them.

It shouldn’t be this hard to break an access code. She’s hacked her way through thousands of access codes, worked her way around Garrison security and messaged in coded language and coded frequency with Matt. She easily hacked into Iverson’s computer after the Kerberos incident supposedly claimed her brother and Dad. What’s obstructing her way around the Biosecurity code?

To be frank, she has no idea what she’s meant to do and that scares her. It might be a little extreme, but what happens to Keith from here on out could very well depend on whether or not she can hack into this folder. Every failed attempt is another hour he has to suffer. Every ‘access denied’ that pops up on the screen is another opportunity for some sick tests to be run on him.

Pidge isn’t having it. She’ll prove herself wrong. She’ll hack this system and blow that ‘access denied’ to smithereens. She’ll find a way. She’ll find the truth, no matter how many hours of sleep she loses trying and failing, trying and failing. It might end up harder than she’s anticipating, but this is her chance – this is her chance to do something great and she’s not going to miss it.

Katie’s a Holt, after all.

For the first time since they put it on, the collar’s unbuckled from Keith’s neck.

It should be something to sigh in relief over, but he knows this research team. They don’t care about his comfort. The dread prickling his gut tells him the relief of losing the collar only means there’s something worse waiting around the corner for him.

The sedative’s heavy – even when the nurse untied his hands and feet, he’d been far too exhausted and lax to move. He’d simply _let_ her roll him onto his side, _let_ her tug on his arms and bind his wrists behind his back. She’s removed the needle feeding IV fluid into his arm already. The moment the collar's off him he has the same elated relief. But Keith just lies there, released from the collar but still lying on it, too tired to move, to even _think_.

Apprehension dully registers in his brain as he’s gathered up between the doctor and the nurse and dragged off the bed. Keith’s head drops to his chest, the blood draining from his face as he’s suddenly tilted upright. His feet touch the cold floor. Unable to support his weight after lying down for what he’s guessing is almost two weeks, his knees buckle. The doctor and nurse have an arm each looped through the bound circle of Keith’s own arms though, so he doesn’t fall on his face.

 _They’re taking me somewhere,_ he realises. He wages a mental war on the sedative, trying to push back the fog. _I need to focus…find a way to escape…_

It’s a short but dizzying walk down the hallway. The bright LED lights make him nauseous. He’s brought through a door to a room which is of a similar size to the one he’s being kept in, except instead of a bed, this one has a pool. He stares at Laurens, who’s standing on the opposite side of the small pool with an assistant beside her. The assistant holds a stop watch, Laurens a clipboard and pen. Her gaze is severe and unconcerned, and the assistant appears to be desperately trying not to look like she _pities_ Keith.

Keith’s heart plummets. After the other kinds of tests they’ve forced him through, it doesn’t take much to guess what the pool is for. He’s only been relieved of his fever for a day and now they’re straight back into testing.

He’s forced to his knees right in front of the pool. After being dragged forward so that his torso and legs are on the towels laid out on the floor, he feels the nurse’s cold hands wrap around his ankles and the doctor’s knee comes down on his lower back. The doctor then smooths back Keith’s messy hair and takes a fistful of it, suspending his head and chest above the water in the pool.

Laurens nods at her assistant. “Ready?”

Keith gasps, panic overwhelming him. The doctor holds onto the rope binding his hands, preventing him from wriggling around too much. The sedative eroding with Keith’s newfound adrenaline, he struggles, vainly, hopelessly, to get away from –

The assistant presses the stopwatch and Keith’s head is plunged into the pool.

In his terror, he makes the mistake of dispelling all the air in his lungs at once. His eyes are shut against the water but he’s so traumatised he can almost _see_ it shifting around him. Keith thrashes as best he can, but the nurse holds his legs still and the doctor has him pinned to the floor and his head firmly beneath the water. Only when his struggling stops does the doctor yank on his hair and pull him out.

Suspended above the water, Keith coughs. His chest burns as he draws in air again, but he knows he shouldn’t get too relieved. There’s a reason why the doctor hasn’t relinquished his grip on his hair. Keith doesn’t know how many times he’s cried since Laurens got her hands on him, but he finds himself crying again. It only makes it harder breathe but he can’t hold it back anymore.

He can’t take it anymore.

“Stop,” he pleads, sobbing. “Please, just stop!”

Laurens doesn’t care. The doctor doesn’t care. The nurse doesn’t care. Perhaps the assistant does but she holds no authority to say anything.

“Plea – ”

Keith’s plunged back under. When he finally figures out to hold his breath, they time that too. He’s ready to give up. Give up hoping. What exactly was he hoping for anyway? Someone to notice his absence and come after him? Someone to _care_ enough to let him go? An explanation? Compassion?

Utter hopeless is all he feels. It hollows him out, and when the doctor holds him under long after he has no oxygen left in his lungs, Keith comes to the conclusion that there’s no hope for him here. They’re killing him. He’s drowning and they don’t care that he’s suffering for it. They don’t care that his lungs are screaming, that he’s crying, that his heart is bursting out of his chest.

Laurens only wants results.

_Inconclusive._

And she’s not getting them.

_More research needed._

What happens when all the tests are done and there’s no use for him anymore? It’s this thought which sends Keith tumbling into irreversible despair. They’ll test him some more and then kill him. He knows too much; he’d blow their cover. This stuff they’re doing to him, it’s meant to stay under the radar and so they’ll kill him in order to keep it that way.

The energy tugs his chest, fiercer than the need to breathe. _No, you must live._

Keith is drowning. They’re not letting him up.

_Live._

_I can’t._

Images flash in the back of his mind – it’s the caves from the vision, the ones with the intricate drawings detailing some kind of prophecy. He sees the panoramic view of the rock stacks, feels the insistent urge to search. Keith begins to wonder if he’s not just making these places up – that they might actually exist.

 _Live,_ says the energy.

_Live._

Keith’s pulled out of the water and dumped beside the pool. The doctor lifts his knee off his back but keeps a hand on Keith’s bonds while he coughs and splutters water and inhales frantically.

Consciousness flitters in and out for a minute or two. He’s shivering. His head’s spinning, his throat raw. He’s held there on the floor. Keith opens his eyes and finds that Laurens has left the room. The assistant stands where she is, though, her eyes fixed on the stopwatch, deliberately avoiding looking at Keith with his cheek pressed against the tiles while he chokes on air and water.

This is a test, too, he realises. A test to see how fast he recovers and how fast he dries.

Keith’s body shakes the whole time. Once his skin’s dry, the assistant does him a favour of passing a thick towel to the doctor, who drapes it over Keith’s upper body. The doctor keeps a hold of the rope binding his hands though, and the nurse still holds his ankles. The towel isn’t much of a relief, really, but at least he’s not shivering so badly now.

Once the aired side of Keith’s dark hair is dried to the doctor’s satisfaction, the assistant presses the stopwatch button and records the time on the clipboard Laurens had been holding. The doctor grabs Keith’s shoulder and hauls him off the floor. He roughly dries the rest of his hair and then, together with the nurse, pulls Keith up to stand on his feet.

Keith’s instincts take over. He lets out an enraged yell and shoves the nurse away from him. The sedative has worn off enough for the fire to return to the pit of his belly, enough to land a solid kick in the doctor’s sensitive area, but not enough to caution him with the knowledge that his hands are bound, he’s just recovered from a near-death experience and the doctor’s much stronger than he is in this state.

The doctor is also running overtime. His shift ended hours ago. He’s tired and he has no patience for this whatsoever. Keith realises his mistake too late.

Seizing Keith’s arm as he tries to escape out the door, the doctor drags him across the room to ram him face-first into the wall. The nurse pins him there with a strong arm across the back of his neck and shoulders. The doctor shoves his bound hands hard against his lower back. When Keith tries to lash out with his foot, the doctor knees him in the back of the leg and traps it there between him and wall.

Keith’s furious. He whips his head around, his eyes full of terror but a snarl on his lips. “Get off me!” he shouts. “You _sick_ scientists! Get _off_ me!”

His second mistake.

“What do you think I am? An _experiment_? I’m not a test subject. Do you hear me? I’m not your test subject!”

The doctor murmurs something into his ear, but it’s not to him, it’s to the nurse. “Do you have the mouth piece on you?”

The nurse's hold on him doesn’t ease even as she takes a hand off him to fish in her pockets. Keith thrashes while she does so, dreading what’s coming next, guessing what’s coming next but unable to stop himself getting a few last words in.

“Do you not care about ethics? What do you think I am? Some kind of alien or something?! Some kind of anima-mmahh mmggrrhhaaph!”

The gag is pulled across his mouth. It’s made of some thick cloth braided into cords at the either end. It’s fastened tight around his head, pain growing at the corners of his mouth and the strands of unkempt hair caught in the knots. The nurse’s elbow digs into the back of his neck while she ties it. Keith shakes his head, tries to scrape it off, but the gag’s already in his mouth and choking him and the nurse has already tied the second knot.

Laurens’ disdainful voice sounds behind him. “Stop harassing us. We’re doing this for the sake of everyone who lives on this planet. That includes you, doesn’t it?”

Keith shouts obscenities into the gag. Saliva spills down his chin. He grunts in frustration and struggles harder. He doesn’t hear the footsteps. He’s only aware of the medtech’s presence when there’s a mask being brought down over his face and tightened behind his head along with knots of the cloth. It’s like the first time they caught him all over again. It’s that horror of being pinned down against his will, trapped, of being forced down a path of no return without any say in it. His screams are muffled and his cries ignored, again. He’s being treated like an animal, again.

The sedative kicks in fairly quickly. Keith sags beneath their grip, eyes heavy and slipping shut. He’s lowered to floor and laid out on his side on what feels like a stretcher. The mask is left on his face, gag and all. His hands are left bound.

He’s almost unconscious when he registers that he’s been carried back to the room with the bed in it. He doesn’t notice that the rope around his wrists has vanished until he feels the sheets of the bed against his bare shoulders and the nurse’s cold hands tying his wrists to the railing on either side of him again. His ankles are already tied down.

Keith groans. The collar’s buckled around his neck again. Only once he’s secured and the sedative done its job is the gag removed from his mouth. The exhilarating release of being able to breathe through his mouth again is the last thing he’s aware of.

 

_Hold on. Keep holding on._

The energy grows stronger, more urgent and more compelling.

_Live._

_I don’t know…if I can anymore…._

_Live. You must._

_Live._

_LIVE._

 

At precisely 12.03am, Pidge breaks the code.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away by all the amazing comments! Thank you all so much!! <3
> 
> ~"The night is darkest just before the dawn."~

She doesn’t get any sleep. Pidge visits the bathrooms several times, half because she’s on her period and half to hide the evidence that she’s been crying.

It was exhilarating, opening that folder. After innumerable attempts and hours of racking her brain for alternative ideas, she’d finally hacked through that stupid ‘restricted access’ barrier. Sheer curiosity drove her to click on one of the video files that showed up. After a moment to consider maybe waiting until Hunk and Lance were with her before actually looking at anything, Pidge pressed play.

She almost wishes she hadn’t.

Keith, shouting, screaming, struggling against the bonds which tied him down on the bed, trying _so hard_ to close his ears off to the hideous pterodactyl screeching playing through the audio but not being able to do so. They’d put a _collar_ around his neck. If that wasn’t sickening enough, that officer lady had been in the room just sitting there, watching, her stupid headphones covering her ears while Keith…

So much rage burns in Pidge’s blood, she’s wired with energy. If she were armed and – no, she’s already dangerous and she knows it – she'd be marching down the corridors, cutting Keith loose and getting him out of there this very night. It takes every bit of self-control she has not to yell, not to let her crying be heard, not to let it shown on her face how _angry_ she is when she makes the trip between her bunkroom and the bathroom. Her roommates know she’s an insomniac and they’re not bothered by it, but they can’t know what Pidge just saw. Even though they should, no one can know, not yet. Not until Pidge’s trio can get Keith without being caught trying.

So close, yet still so far. They can’t act without blowing their cover. If they’re going to succeed in rescuing Keith, it’s going to cost them their places in the Garrison. Pidge grimaces. Keith’s life is worth far more than a position at some NASA-level science and space institution that has the _nerve_ to conduct such tests, and on a _student_ nonetheless!

_Calm down, Pidge. You can do this. Just stay calm, be patient and don’t blow your cover. You’re going to get to him. Don’t rush things. We have to stay under the radar too, for now._

Until the three of them are sure they can succeed in rescuing Keith, Pidge, Hunk and Lance have to be patient. Now that Pidge knows where he’s being kept, it’s only a matter of time. Matt wouldn’t have stood for this: Keith was his classmate, his friend. Aside from her brother and Takashi Shirogane, Keith doesn’t have any friends.

_Well, he does now._

Pidge _is_ armed. She’s got files. She’s got evidence.

She’s just got to be careful how she uses them.

 

All three of them have a full day of classes. _Murphy’s Law,_ Pidge thinks wryly. _Of course, when I really need to show the others this folder._

Knowing the content, she deliberately doesn’t approach Lance and Hunk about it. She steers around that conversation when they meet at Mess for breakfast and lunch. She’s a terrible actor when it comes to hiding her frustration, but her seething anger is fortunately mistaken for failing to crack the code despite staying up all night trying to break it. Pidge keeps her head down. She’s afraid that if she looks at Lance for too long, he’ll see past her façade and realise that it's not the code that's bothering her. She’s afraid that if she catches Hunk’s gaze, he’ll know something’s up and that it’s probably due to the content of the folder.

Pidge doesn’t fool them. Her anger is concentrated, sharpened. Focused. There’s nothing spaced out and preoccupied about it. Lance pulls her aside after their turn in simulation practise that afternoon. Hunk has run off to the bathroom due to motion sickness.

Lance’s expression is stern. “You got it, didn’t you?”

It’s not said like a question. Pidge confirms with a nod, in any case. Lance lets out a breath of relief, but she fakes a glare at him in the hope of getting her warning message across: _yeah, and it’s not pretty._

Lance’s eyes narrow in concern. He sets his jaw and crosses his arms in front of him. To the other students and Iverson gathered around the simulator, watching how the group currently in there fare, Pidge and Lance are having a post-‘simulation failed’ talk. They probably look like they’re having an argument, not shoulder-deep in uncovering the conspiracy which is Keith’s disappearance.

_Pfft,_ Pidge thinks, _and Iverson reckons we don’t work well as a team._

Hunk returns. It only takes a small nod and warning stare from Lance to update him on their progress. Hunk’s face brightens a little, but he takes note of the serious caution on both Lance and Pidge’s faces and quickly drops the smile.

Before they part ways for their evening classes later on in the day, Pidge arranges the meeting they’ve been anxious to have.

“The roof,” she whispers under the noise of cadets tramping in the corridor. “Tonight.”

She hopes she doesn’t need to explain that by ‘tonight’ she means ‘lights out’. Lance should get it, but Hunk might be too scared of getting caught after lights out to realise she’s dead serious. They need the privacy and space appropriate for viewing the files – something Pidge could’ve used last night – and the rooftop is the best place for hushed-voice venting.

Lance gives the thumbs up before he leaves for his class down an adjacent hallway. Pidge walks with Hunk for another minute before she takes her own leave.

 

Tonight’s lecture of Risk Management is on identifying biosecurity hazards that might present themselves before and after a flight on Earth, and the different methods use for treatment, prevention and eradication. It’s fine, at first. Then the tutor starts listing trialled fumigation alternatives to the common methyl bromide and all Pidge can think about is Keith lying there on that bed and the mask on his face and his wrists tied to the railing so he can’t reach up and take it off…

She feels a sudden empathy for Hunk. Pidge goes rigid, trying to concentrate, trying to quell the churning in her stomach. In the end she has to excuse herself and the thoughts running around her mind actually make her vomit. It’s then she decides that, without fail, tonight she’s going to make sure they come up with a plan.

This rescue mission can’t wait any longer.

 

The stars are bright tonight. It’s almost symbolic, really. Pidge can only pray Keith can hold on until the morning comes… whichever morning from now that’ll be.

While Pidge waits for Hunk and Lance to hurry up and get their butts out here, she gets the files ready and switches to her satellite feed. There’s something else she needs to check.

_Voltron._

One word, repeated over and over. She’s been monitoring this alien radio chatter for months now, admittedly ever since Kerberos, and tonight it’s going crazier than ever. She has no clue what it means, only that this ‘Voltron’ must be something important because it sure is being said a lot. She’s deep in thought, wondering if this ‘Voltron’ might be located somewhere on Earth, when a voice sounds directly in her ear.

“You come up here to rock out?”

Pidge nearly jumps out of her skin. She whirls on Lance and gives him a rough but friendly shove.

“Grrrrrrr,” she says, grinning. “Don’t do that!”

Lance just shrugs. Hunk crouches down beside him as Pidge minimises the satellite feed. While the guys make themselves comfortable as possible, Pidge steels herself, swallows the rising apprehension of what the other videos may show, and unplugs the headphones.

“Alright,” Lance says, leaning in to examine the unnamed but dated video files listed on screen. “Time to see what we’ve got going on here.”

Hunk grins. “Yeah, good job, Pidge.”

_You won’t be smiling much longer_ , she thinks. _Not after you’ve seen a video._

Without another word, Pidge hits play.

This isn’t the noise sensitivity test she viewed in the early hours of this morning. It’s different footage, but it’s nothing better – it’s _worse_.

They watch as Keith writhes, straining against the bonds, his fingers digging into the sheet beneath him. There’s a black mask on his face that he’s desperately trying to get off. He shakes his head in a vain attempt to dislodge it. His movements grow weaker and weaker until he’s so still he looks dead, if not for the shallow rasping breathes coming through the sound system.

The video ends.

“ _What in the Sam Hill?!”_

They flinch. The sharp exclamation is not Lance, it’s not Hunk and it’s not Pidge.

It’s Iverson.

He’s been watching the video with them.

 

When Keith returns to consciousness, he learns there won’t be any tests done on him today. He hears it from Laurens, but she’s not informing him, she’s informing the nurse and medtech standing in the room.

They talk about him like he’s not there. Like he’s a ghost, or someone who doesn’t deserve to be called by their name. He’s never Keith Kogane to them. He’s just…’he’ or ‘him’. Nothing has changed. His life doesn’t matter to them anymore. It never has done. So when Laurens explains that she’s not going to do anymore tests, that she’s going to let him rest or, in her words, ‘put him to sleep’, Keith knows this is it for him. He’s not dumb. He’s had a pet before; he know what that means.

When Laurens came to get him, it was a one way trip.

Laurens is smart. She knew what the testing would involve before she started. She knows that, in order to keep her research team’s operations under the radar, releasing Keith once a conclusion has been reached is not an option. That’s why she went so far, that’s why she’s never cared how traumatising her test methods are for him. In her eyes, she probably thinks it will only make things easier at the end. Instead of fighting the idea of euthanasia, she thinks Keith will welcome it.

Wrong.

“No!” Keith shouts through the mask. His voice is a little heavy with sedative, but he tries anyway. “You can’t do this. You can’t do this to me!”

The restraints won’t let up. Neither will Laurens.

Laurens shoots him a warning glance. “You. Shut up.”

“No! Let me go! Please, listen to me! You can’t keep me here. You can’t…no…”

The nurse is crossing the floor. She’s got the gag in her hands.

Panic spikes through Keith’s body. “No! No, you can’t do this!”

The nurse loosens the mask and lowers it to rest on his chin.

“Please, no.” Keith can’t shake her off. “No –aahhhffhnnph!”

“Would you like me to prepare some anaesthetic?” the nurse asks as she finishes securing the cloth and replaces the mask. “I’ll need to fill out a form, but I could have it ready in just over an hour?”

She says this even as she’s leaning over Keith, _facing_ him. She narrows her eyes at him as he continues to plead with them through the gag.

Laurens lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was hoping that wouldn’t be necessary. Used enough sedative in the last couple of weeks, thought I could save using any extra resources.”

An hour. They’re going to kill him in one hour.

After Laurens and nurse leave – leaving him gagged, _dammit_ – Keith does everything he can to escape. It’s useless. No matter how hard he tugs on the restraints, they don’t give. He’s tried relaxing and slipping his hands through the loop, but it’s bound too tight around his wrist. There’s a mask over his face and a gag in his mouth, so there’s no hope of using his teeth to unbuckle the collar. It’s useless. He’s stuck here.

It’s useless.

_Live_. _You must live._

_Search. You must search._

No, it’s useless. It really is.

 

“They’re testing him for adaptations,” Pidge explains. He scrolls through an accumulation of documents describing the tests, pausing to point at the methods sections which illustrate the aim of each test. “They want to see if he shows any sign of being adapted to environmental conditions which aren’t found on Earth.”

Iverson’s face is a barely controlled storm. His eye, the one Keith didn’t punch, gleams in the light of Pidge’s laptop and Lance can’t help but marvel at the scene in front of him.

Hunk was right – Iverson had been kept out of the loop. Now they, three cadets doing stuff they legally shouldn’t, are updating the commander on their findings, of the intentionally placed near-impenetrable restricted access and the sick methods used in the ‘Mugilidae’ research.

After a long stretch of silence, Iverson stands up from his crouch. His stance commands a response, and Lance, Hunk and Pidge immediately stand at attention before him. Lance holds his breath. This mission could be a total bust unless –

“Alright, cadets,” Iverson says, his voice gruff. “I’m sure you three are well aware that there will be consequences of your behaviour. I don’t need to spell it out for you, do I?”

“No, sir,” the three of them say in unison.

“Good. Now, pack your gear, Gunderson. You lot are coming back to my office with me for starters.”

Pidge swallows. “Sir.”

Lance notices the way Pidge sniffs as he bends down to obey. In a matter of seconds, he’s wiping the back of his hands across his eyes. Hunk is visibly steeling himself, borderline tears as well. None of them are willing to give up now, but they’ve been caught out and they can’t argue with authority. But this isn’t about them and the question needs to be asked.

“Uh, sir?” Lance asks tentatively. “What are you going to do regarding Keith?”

Iverson snorts. “You’re going to go in there and save him. What else?”

Pidge freezes. Hunk’s eyes are wide. Lance is stunned.

“What’s wrong cadets?” Iverson’s grinning like he’s proud of them. “That intention hasn’t changed, has it? Too bad if it has. I’m making that an order. I’m going to give you my access code and ID card and you’re going to break Kogane out. Laurens and her weasel friends physically obstructed me when I tried to find him before, but I am, however, authorised to enter the Biosecurity department building and any room in it. You’ll be able to get all the way in.”

Lance is breathless. He touches the heels of his trainers together and salutes. “Sir!”

Plans are made. Iverson informs them of the location of Keith’s clothes and knife: his office. They’ll all go back there under the guise of being caught being up to no good, which shouldn’t be too hard to pull off even for Hunk. Pidge will work with Iverson to mess with security and then make his way to the storage hangar out the back of the Garrison with Hunk. Keith’s hovercraft was brought in there. Lance is in charge of getting Keith.

“With all due respect, sir,” Hunk says nervously. “Are you sure this plan will work?”

Iverson’s frown deepens in thought. “Well, we could use a distraction or somethi…” He trails off, his attention caught by something in the sky. “What in the world?!”

They all look up. There's a meteor blazing amongst the stars, only it's heading straight for them, getting closer and closer. That's not a meteor...

Pidge grabs his binoculars from his mostly packed bag. “It’s a ship!”

Reaching over Pidge’s head, Lance takes a hold of the binoculars and peers through them. “Holy crow! That is _not_ one of ours!”

“It’s one of _theirs_.” Pidge’s eyes are wide with excitement.

Iverson grunts. “Well, cadets. We have our distraction.”

 

There’s no clock to watch the sixty minutes tick by, only the beats of his own heart. It won’t be beating for much longer.

When the time comes and the nurse arrives with the anaesthetic, Keith has one final go at protesting. The nurse deftly replaces the mask with a new one, removing the gag in the process. The whole time Keith stirs his foggy mind to give it all he’s got. It’s instinctive more than anything, this yelling. He knows it won’t achieve much. He’s almost surprised the nurse didn’t decide to stuff the cloth back in his mouth, what with the way he’s reverted back to pleading them again like he’s going to change his minds. Then again, it figures – if he can breathe through his mouth, he’ll succumb to the anaesthetic quicker and they won’t have to listen to his pitiful grunts.

The new mask is fitted. Keith soon tastes the difference in air and in paralysing terror, falls silent. His chest heaves as the panic really settles in. His fingers are curled into fists. He’s aware of them uncurling, feels himself slipping away.

The anaesthetic beckons him. _Go to sleep. Escape this pain. You’ll never be rejected again._

Another voice wrestles it out of hearing. _Live! You must live! You must search!_

In his faded vision, he sees Laurens preparing something in a syringe. The nurse, having done her work, leaves.

_Live! You must live!_

Keith’s last thought is of a drawing depicting a blue lion. Then he’s smothered in darkness.

_Live!_

 

Lance sprints down the silent corridors with Keith’s knife sharp in his hands. No dillydallying. The entire Biosecurity department have been called out to the crashed ship. The Garrison is on lockdown. They have an opening and he can’t afford to waste it.

He reaches the Biosecurity doors without any trouble.Lance’s heart is hammering. Breathing fast, he swipes Iverson’s ID card and inputs the commander's passcode into the keypad. The keypad lights up green.

He’s in.

_Alright. First left…then right…follow the hall down to the double doors with the keypad on the wall outside._

Lance hasn’t been this high on adrenaline all his life. He keeps his fingers tight around the hilt of Keith’s knife, his other hand shaking as he repeats the entry process.

_Hold on Keith. I’m right here. I'm coming._

Green. Lance runs. Pidge’s voice echoes in his head. _Research Lab number 4_. His heart skips a beat.

He’s found it.

The door’s open.

Lance immediately softens his footsteps, slows to a creeping walk, heel-flat-toe, heel-flat-toe. He controls his breathing, keeps it as light as his feet. He’s at the door. Lance takes a deep breath, takes the step, pivots and launches himself through the doorway.

His adrenaline skyrockets. That’s Laurens. She’s holding Keith’s right arm where an IV needle has been stuck in his veins. There’s no IV tube connected to it. Lance catches sight of the syringe poised mere inches from the receiving end of the needle.

The syringe isn’t empty.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine if Lance had tripped over a loose shoelace or something on his way...

Lance tackles Laurens to the ground without a second thought. She loses her grip on the syringe. Lance kicks it so it goes rolling across the floor under the bed, and more importantly, out of her reach. Then the hilt of Keith’s knife connects with her temple and Laurens goes still.

He acted on instincts here. He’d had to. If he’d given the lady even two more seconds Keith would have been a goner. Shoot, if he’d screwed up the passcode or tripped even _once,_ that would’ve been it for him. Lance would’ve preferred a less violent approach to taking out Laurens, but this is _nothing_ compared to what she did to Keith. Lance doesn’t regret it.

On his feet, Lance approaches Keith. He’s hardly recognisable, bound up, hardly any clothes on and unconscious. There’s no trace of that fire which usually burns in his eyes, no tightly wound energy and not even a hint of a scowl. It’s ten times worse off camera and in person. Keith, he… looks so… _dead_.

Except he’s not. A quick check of his pulse confirms that Laurens wasn’t fast enough. _Thank heavens for that._ The first thing Lance undoes is the collar. It’s hideous, seeing one of his classmates with a noose meant for a dog around his neck. He then uses Keith’s knife, the one supposedly not from Earth, to cut through the material knotted around his hands and feet. He’s careful not to cut Keith’s skin, slipping his little finger in the tight gap between Keith’s wrist and the loop before nicking the material enough to half tear, half cut it off. He does the same to free Keith’s other hand, then repeats the process to cut free his ankles.

Lance taps Keith’s cheek, calling his name. He double checks his pulse again – slow but steady – and taps his collarbone hard.

“Keith. Keith, can you hear me, buddy?”

There’s no response. He’s so far gone that he doesn’t even seem to register his own name being called.

“Alright,” Lance murmurs. He slips a hand beneath Keith’s knees and shoulders and gathers him in his arms. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Keith’s head tilts back over Lance’s arm, his mouth slack. _This guy needs a shower,_ he thinks as the thick odour of sweat reaches him. _And a haircut, or at least a decent comb._ Keith’s hair is a mess.

Taking a deep breath, Lance braces himself and then hoists Keith up in his arms off the bed and over the railing. Keith’s dead weight takes him by surprise. Lance nearly drops him. He staggers a few steps sideways, trips over Laurens lying knocked out on the floor and collapses under Keith’s weight. The guy’s as limp as a ragdoll. Lance’s arms instinctively come up around Keith’s head and shoulders, shielding him from impact.

Turns out this aspect of the mission is a lot more difficult than he thought it would be.

Heaving a sigh, Lance picks them both up again and tries a different tactic. He pulls one of Keith’s arms across his shoulders, keeps a hand firm on his wrist and his other arm wrapped around Keith’s torso. A few seconds later and he’s dragging him out of the room, away from Laurens, away from the bed with the nasty collar, away from the torture. Away from death.

Lance retraces his steps. There’s an emergency exit further down the hallway, according to Iverson. Apparently that’ll take him near to the eastern end of the tarmac out the back of the Garrison complex. That’s where the storage hangar is for small aircraft – that’s where Lance’s rendezvous point is with Pidge and Hunk, at Keith’s hovercraft. They were making their way there with Keith’s clothes and the hovercraft engine keys while Lance left Iverson’s office to fetch Keith, so they should already be there by now. At least, he hopes so. Lance doesn’t like the idea of carrying Keith around or hiding him somewhere if he has to go looking for them.

The green above the door at the far end of the hallway signals their exit. They’re almost there when Lance decides he’s using too much energy hauling Keith around so he switches to carrying him army-style. Keith flops over his shoulder without a sound.

Lance grits his teeth. The sooner they’re out of here better. Keith’s silence is eating away at his stomach and they haven’t yet cleared the danger zone – he’s not safe yet.

He isn’t wrong. Five feet from the door and a harsh squawk lets out an alarm back up the hallway behind them. Lance pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder to see who he’s dealing with. A nurse. No doubt the one who gave Laurens the euthanizing prescription.

Lance fends her off with a warning glare. “No take backs!”

He tightens his grip on Keith’s legs and in his free hand, brandishes Keith’s knife in the air. The nurse stops in her tracks. Lance keeps the knife aimed at her as though it were a rifle, keeps his cold gaze on her as he covers the last few steps between Keith’s torture and freedom.

Once out the exit, Lance slams the door and runs.

Jogs, rather. It’s hard to run with a sixty kilogram Keith slung over your shoulder. Lance is afraid he’s jostling him around too much. The guy’s unconscious – he should be taking it easier. But Lance is more afraid of what’ll happen if he’s apprehended before he reaches Hunk and Pidge. He’s not good with a blade. Give him a gun or slingshot and he can win a fight. Bare hands and a knife – that’s Keith’s fighting style, not his. Lance’s only way to defend Keith is to run.

It’s a ten minute jog-walk across the compound to the storage hangar for smaller crafts. The tarmac is lit up with flood lights, so Lance stays in the narrow shadow of the Garrison until all he needs to take is one short, straight run across the other side. He’s breathing heavily with the strain of keeping Keith balanced over his shoulder. Without the harsh lights and stifling air of the research lab though, it doesn’t feel quite as difficult as before. The night is definitely a relief to be out in.

At the hangar, the lights are off but the roller door is wide open. Lance recognises the hovercraft waiting just inside the door. Pidge and Hunk are hidden from sight, but they emerge from the shadows as soon as Lance comes into sight. Thanks to Pidge scrambling the security cameras, they’ve been able to get the hovercraft ready without raising any alarms.

Pidge jumps up, his hands clutching the straps of his bag. “You got him!”

“Yeah, Keith!” Hunk chases Pidge out from their hiding spot to meet them. “Nice work, Lance.”

Lance slows to a halt in front of the craft. He readjusts his grip on Keith.

“It was a close call,” he says quietly.

Pidge tilts his head at Lance’s odd tone. Hunk is peering around at Keith hanging over Lance’s back.

“Hey, Keith?” Hunk waves his hand near Keith’s face. “Hey, man, you with us?”

Lance shakes his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. He’s not going to cry in front of his crew.

“They put him under. I…they were going to _euthanise_ him,” he explains thickly. “I walked in there and… she was about to do it.”

Too late. He’s crying.

With the added weight of reality coming crashing down all of a sudden, Keith’s weight is all of a sudden too much for Lance. He walks the couple of steps to the hovercraft’s right wing and bends over, easing Keith off his shoulder with Hunk’s help and propping him against the craft.

“Alright,” Lance says, sniffing. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Hunk fetches Keith’s clothes and tosses Lance the keys. “Here, pilot. Catch.”

Lance smiles, easily catching them. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and abruptly remembers. While Hunk clambers onto the hovercraft’s tail with the bag of Keith’s clothes in his arms, Lance shrugs off his jacket and reaches up to where Pidge is perched on the craft’s spine.

“Here,” he says, handing him the jacket. “Can you put this on Keith? I’ll pass him up to you.”

Pidge stares at him in bewilderment, clutching the hood of the jacket. “What? Why am I the one holding this guy?”

“Because someone needs to pilot this thing and - correct me if I’m wrong - I don’t think that someone’s going to be you or Hunk.”

Hunk shuffles forward until he’s sitting just behind Pidge. “Hey, why don’t we swap? I’ll hold Keith and you take this bag instead?”

“I’d prefer that arrangement,” Pidge mutters. He climbs over Hunk, trades the jacket in his hands with the bag of Keith’s clothes and settles down, a lighter weight on the hovercraft’s tail to balance it out a bit better.

Lance hoists Keith up in his arms again. Hunk bends down, a hand braced on the hovercraft’s spine as he hooks an arm around Keith’s chest. Lance shifts his hold so that his hands are on his waist and then he lifts Keith up into Hunk’s waiting arms.

While Lance jumps onto the pilot’s seat, Hunk skilfully pulls Keith’s limp hands through the sleeves of the jacket. It’s warm from Lance’s body heat and with Hunk’s arms around him, Keith shouldn’t get too cold during the flight. They can’t afford to lose him to hypothermia. They can’t take that risk.

By the time the hovercraft’s up and running and _hovering_ , Keith’s cloaked in Lance’s jacket and slumped forward over Hunk’s arms. Lance checks over each and every member of his crew. They all give the thumbs up, all except Keith, of course. But Keith already looks a whole lot better – less vulnerable – now that he’s wrapped up in decent clothes and isn’t sprawled out under harsh white lights.

Lance throws the craft forwards. Since he’s not used to the quick responsiveness of hovercrafts, the action causes the whole thing to pitch forward. Lance hastily corrects it and brings them into a steadier flight as they leave the tarmac behind for the desert. No one appears to have noticed them leaving and so they’re given the mind-easing knowledge that they’re not going to be pursued just yet. Lance puts his foot down on the accelerator anyway, just in case.

“Be careful, man!” Pidge yells at him over the rushing air. “This isn’t the simulator!”

Lance grins over his shoulder. “Maybe, but I’m still your guy’s pilot!”

Hunk groans. “Keith, if you don’t mind waking up and getting Lance away from the controls, that’d be great.”

“Geez, Hunk. Have a little faith in me, will you?”

It’s surprising not too hard adapting. There’s definitely an art to flying these craft, but for the simple aim of getting from A to B in a straight line across the sand, B being a shack out in the desert which Keith supposedly _lives_ in, it’s not that bad. There’s a couple of instances where Lance accidently overcorrects against a buffering wind, but they don’t lose anybody or anything overboard, so no harm really comes to them. Apart from Hunk, who is apparently freaked out that he’s going to lose his grip on Keith if Lance doesn’t stop screwing around, accident or not.

They all make it in one piece. Even the hovercraft.

Pidge tosses the bag of Keith’s clothes onto the sand and jumps down off the craft’s tail after it. Hunk doesn’t trust his legs, and so he waits until Lance is able to take Keith from him before scrambling down himself. Lance pulls Keith’s arm across his shoulders again and hauls him around the hovercraft to the shack, bare feet trailing in the sand.

Inside, Pidge unpacks his back and begins setting up his equipment, overly keen to anonymously leak some video files and documents. In the dim light of Pidge’s computer – they don’t want to risk attracting attention by turning the room light on – Lance looks for a suitable place to settle Keith.

There’s a sofa gathering dust by the window. Lance gives it a quick brush before nestling Keith into the corner of it. He’s worried lying him down might simulate the sensation of still being in the lab, and so he decides that leaning him into the back of the sofa against the arm of it is the best option. They want Keith to wake up. If he’s going to do that, then Keith needs to know he’s not living in that nightmare anymore. He needs to know that he’s still living. That he’s alive, and safe, and protected.

Neither Lance, Pidge nor Hunk are going to let anyone steal Keith away from them.

_Murphy’s Law._

Hunk ducks inside seconds before the windows flash with a brilliant light. Headlights. Of a Garrison four-wheel drive. Pidge hunches over his laptop, muttering curses beneath his breath, typing faster.

Lance hasn’t let go of Keith’s knife since he took it in his hands. Car doors open. Voices. Two doors slam. Lance plants himself between Keith’s slouched form on the sofa and the shadows falling across the open doorway.

The three of them almost relax - one of the two men is Iverson. Then a strangely dressed man walks in after him. He seems vaguely familiar – no, startlingly familiar. Beneath the fringe of white on black hair and the weird black bodysuit and torn purple shirt he’s wearing...

_What the...?!_

It’s the pilot of the Kerberos mission, Takashi Shirogane.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note in regards to previous chapter: I realise that I forgot to mention that, yes, Lance removed the needle from Keith’s arm while he was cutting him free. Minor detail, but I had intended to write a sentence saying that.
> 
> Thanks again everyone for your support and all your encouraging comments! <3  
> Kudos to all you readers!!!!!! :D

“Good teamwork, cadets,” Iverson says gruffly. He nods at the sofa. “I see the mission was a success.”

Lance stays between the door and Keith, just in case he’s mistaken. But when he glances at Hunk and Pidge, he sees the recognition dawning on their faces, too, and lets the tension ease from his shoulders.

Shiro’s eyes dart between Lance, Hunk and Pidge, cautious. There’s an unsettling hint of fear there, as though he’s afraid the three of them are going to attack him. Then his eyes fall on Keith and his gaze hardens. Shiro takes a few steps from the doorway, towards Keith. Lance bristles, narrowing his eyes in warning.

Iverson notices. “Stand down, McClain. Commander Shirogane is not your enemy.”

Lance forces himself to obey. “Sir,” he answers, then steps aside, giving Shiro room.

In a matter of seconds, Shiro is leaning over Keith, tapping the side of his face and repeating his name over and over, just like Lance did. The atmosphere is thick with residual tension and worry, and the haunting memory of what they saw on the video lurks in Lance's mind. He wonders how much Shiro knows, how much Iverson told him on the ride here.

“Is he drugged?” Shiro asks quietly, brushing Keith’s messy hair out of his face to lay a palm on his forehead.

His voice isn’t as strong and authoritative like Lance remembers it to be. He sounds less like the pilot who left on the Kerberos mission and more like…a seriously concerned older brother. It hits Lance in the chest. Shiro took him in, didn’t he? Keith’s an orphan. He’s been alone ever since the Kerberos mission…

“He was like that when I found him,” Lance offers.

Iverson sidles alongside Shiro to peer at Keith’s slack face. “I imagine they used anaesthetic if he still hasn’t come around yet.”

“Commander Iverson, sir.” Lance lowers his voice. “It was Commanding Officer Laurens. She - ”

His voice pitches and he has to pause, swallow, recollect. He tries again.

“She was going to euthanize him, sir.”

It’s still too dark to really make out anyone’s expressions clearly, but Lance can feel the brewing anger emanating from Shiro like a gale-force wind. Shiro doesn’t say anything, but in the dim light Lance watches how his posture shifts. His stance is that of a guy getting ready to fight someone.

“Do you have any evidence available, Gunderson,” Iverson says slowly, “besides McClain’s witness?”

With an affirmative nod, Pidge growls. He taps a few keys and then swivels his laptop around so that the rest of them can see what’s glowing on the screen. It’s a video. Lance recognises the lab he just rescued Keith from.

 “Evidence, sir,” Pidge says, and he jabs the space bar.

Lance’s stomach churns to see Keith bound and collared again, and – _is that a gag in his mouth?!_ He has to glance up at real-Keith, asleep on the sofa, to remind himself that what’s happening to him in the video is now over. Easier said than done when he’s watching as the nurse in the room with Laurens ignores the muffled cries, their faces impassive. Lance’s heart speeds up when the nurse removes the gag and Keith starts struggling against the bonds. _He knew what was coming for him_ , Lance realises in sick horror. Keith’s eyes shut shortly after the mask, with what he figures is anaesthetic pumping through it, is slipped over his face. His body relaxes and he protests no more. Keith still hasn’t woken up from that.

The video keeps rolling. The nurse has left, leaving Laurens behind to finish Keith off. She takes out a bottle of unlabelled liquid from the cupboards of a narrow workbench and fills a syringe with it. Everyone watching the video collectively draws in a breath as Laurens approaches Keith and takes hold of his arm. She slips the IV tube free of the connecting needle in his arm, flips the syringe around in her fingers –

Then Lance shows up. His tackle is nothing spectacular on camera, but he felt like a rugby player doing it. Pidge keeps the video playing so that everyone can watch Keith’s rescue – and Lance fall over trying – and then stops it when all they’re looking at is Laurens lying unconscious on the floor where she was left.

In the heart-hammering silence, Hunk’s eyes widen. “She really _was_ going to euthanize him.”

Lance just nods. He can’t look at Keith right now. He doesn’t want to imagine what it would have been like to get to him two minutes later to pick up his lifeless body and bring back a corpse. Though he wasn’t familiar with chemistry and medical stuff, the gnawing in his gut tells him that once that lethal liquid was in Keith’s body, if Laurens had been given the time to go through with it, the effects would have been irreversible. Not even CPR could’ve brought him back.

Iverson locks eyes with Pidge. “Gunderson. Do you have the files prepared?”

“Yes, sir. Everything’s prepared to leak. Give me the signal and it’ll be off to every Garrison General and senior officer’s inbox.”

“When you’re ready.”

Pidge grins so devilishly he looks like he could’ve starred in the movie Gremlins. He snickers, and with a dramatic tap of a button he presses what is blatantly obvious ‘send’.

Iverson takes a deep breath and folds his arms across his chest. “Good. Now I’d better head back to Garrison and deal with the due chaos. I ask that you’ll show Shirogane the remaining videos.” At the trio’s apprehensive glance at Shiro’s tense figure, Iverson adds, “I have informed him of the content.”

Pidge casts Hunk and Lance a wary look. Lance can’t help feel apprehensive. Shiro should be resting. There’s no way he’s going to be able to do that after he’s seen the videos. But the faint gleam in his eyes is enough to say that Shiro’s the one who’s requesting to see them. It’s Keith he’s concerned about, not his own peace of mind.

A great surge of respect for the returned Kerberos pilot overcomes Lance. That’s a great deal of resilience Shiro has, to be willing to watch the videos when he also, judging by his now cyborg right arm, was recently subjected to some kind of torture himself.

Iverson takes his leave and the Garrison vehicle rumbles off into the distance. Though they’re all exhausted, there’s so much tension in the air from watching that last video that Pidge, Hunk and Lance decide to view the rest of the files with Shiro.

The anxiety returns. Lance frequently checks on Keith. He sees the others doing the same. The shadows beneath Pidge’s eyes grow darker in the light of the screen, his glasses reflecting ominously. Pidge would’ve murdered Laurens had he been the one to free Keith. After they’ve watched the first three in chronological order, he even says as much. Hunk is crying by the start of the second.

The audio is the worst part of it. Pidge keeps it low, but it’s not the volume that’s disturbing, it’s the hideous pitches weaved into Keith’s strangled screams which are the most haunting. It gets worse. In a sick way, Lance can understand why they decided to gag him. Keith’s pleading, his cries, the whimpers that reach the sound system when it becomes clear they’re not listening to him.

Shiro goes as still as rock during the last test. His eyes are wide and his pupils narrowed like a cat’s. Hunk leaves the room. Pidge’s upper lip is curled. Lance feels like he’s about to faint. The doctor and nurse are pinning Keith down while they drown him. They’ve got his wrists bound far too tight behind his back and the doctor’s holding Keith by his hair. Laurens just watches, recording. Her assistant doesn’t try to stop it. After they’ve finished drowning him, they pull him out and hold him down even as he coughs up water.

It gets worse, still. They must’ve been keeping Keith under sedative. It must’ve worn off somewhat though, because now he’s fighting. Keith’s yelling at them. His words aren’t false. They have him pinned against the wall now. Keith keeps yelling, borderline shrieking at them. Even through the cloth that gets tied around his mouth, he shouts at them. Then a medtech comes in and forces him to breathe in the sedatve, and then Keith’s being lowered down on a stretcher and carried out of the testing room, still bound and still gagged.

Shiro abruptly stands, his brow creased and his frown deep. He storms out of the room and lets out an enraged howl into the night. Some wild dog answers from the canyons. Lance doesn’t miss the note of anguish.

They don’t need to review the video they watched with Iverson. Pidge exits the window, leaving the list of ‘Mugilidae’ files on screen. There’s twenty-eight of them, including the videos, data sheets and a documented analysis for every test. Pidge leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his forehead pressed into his hands. Lance gets up and sits down on the sofa next to Keith, listening to his soft, steady breathes.

 _Keith really has no one,_ he realises. _Not one single person who cares about him._

Of course, that’s not true anymore. Shiro’s back. Lance, Pidge and Hunk are with him. But Keith isn’t aware of any of this. He probably doesn’t even realise he’s still alive.

Hunk comes back inside. Pidge pulls himself together long enough to shut the laptop down, unplug it from the wall and curl up on the floor where he is. Lance zones out while Hunk rummages through Pidge’s backpack for something, stirring only when a calmer Shiro comes back inside. Noticing him looking past him at Keith, Lance gets up to trade places with Shiro. Shiro acknowledges the gesture with a small nod of his head, nothing more. Lance heads outside to clear his mind.

Lance can’t sleep, so he goes outside to keep unofficial watch a while. Nothing happens, no one comes. No more ships crash from outer space. The stars shift in the sky and the winds cool as the night deepens. The air may be fresher outside, but the images running through his mind can’t be displaced that easily. Lance rubs his eyes. He hasn’t even begun to consider what’s going to happen tomorrow. Iverson had cautioned them to stay of sight until he contacts them, but who knows how long the five of them are going to have to stay out here in hiding.

Lance sighs. Tomorrow has enough worries of its own. They can discuss things once they’ve all had a bit of rest.

He goes back inside eventually. Shiro is sitting on the sofa with Keith leaned into his shoulder to slump against him. Shiro’s arm is wrapped around Keith’s shoulders protectively. The man himself is asleep, but his face isn’t relaxed at all. Shiro’s eyebrow twitches and there’s a tic in his cheek. He’s having a nightmare. Unsurprising, really.

Half fearing he’ll have a nightmare of his own, Lance curls up on the floor near Hunk and Pidge, both sound asleep and Hunk snoring softly. There’s a torch in Hunk’s hands. Lance wonders if he was reading something that Pidge had stashed away.

With one last glance at the sofa to reassure himself that Keith’s definitely safe now, Lance allows himself to close his eyes. Sleep comes to him quickly after that.

 

…

.. _ve._

_Live. Wake up._

_…_

_…_

_I can’t…_

_…_

_Alive._

_Alive. Wake up. Alive._

_Search…_

_…_

_…_

_…maybe it’s better…if I don’t wake up._

_YOU MUST!_

_ALIVE! WAKE UP! SEARCH!_

_….SAFE._

_…_

_…_

_I..._

_..._

_Okay._


	9. Chapter 9

Darkness. Warmth.

A heartbeat in his right ear.

Sleeves of a thick jacket, running down the length of his arms. He curls his fingers into the material, presses in closer to the warmth.

His chest rises and falls. Fresh yet dry air fills his lungs. It tastes familiar, distantly like home.

He snuggles closer to the source of warmth. It wraps around his shoulders, gentle but strong.

Protective.

_Safe._

Keith slowly opens his eyes. Chaos descends.

_White. Screaming. Indifferent stares. Tightness around his neck, his jaw, his wrists –_

_Safe. Safe. Alive. Sa-_

_Can’t breathe. No, no, not the mask! No, I can’t! Stop!_

“…eith.”

_The needle stings. Cold hands on his face. Under water. Can’t breathe. Pain. He’s going under, the blackness, a syringe, no… no -!_

“Keith. Keith, you’re safe.”

_I can’t. Stop. Stop!_

“..eathe. Just breathe. You’re safe. Keith, you’re safe.”

_Safe. Safe. Alive._

He’s hyperventilating. Whimpering. The voice matches the warmth enveloping him, the same protective and reassuring quality to it. A hand rubs his shoulder. The heartbeat stays strong.

Keith risks opening his eyes again. The world spins. It’s disorientating.

It’s still dark. It’s still warm. He’s still wrapped up in the jacket. There’s not a white-panelled ceiling above him; there’s a dimly lit table, shadows curled up on the floor. He sees his hands in his lap, nothing binding them. He’s still in the grey shorts, but he’s wearing this jacket, too. Keith crosses his arms over his stomach, gripping the sides of the jacket. Then he remembers the voice that just sounded in his ear.

Someone’s beside him. He’s leaning against them. Keith’s shaking with terror. This can’t be good. He’s not safe. This person is -

Keith’s eyes widen as he tilts his head up. It’s Shiro. He blinks. Still Shiro.

Shiro.

Takashi Shirogane, Shiro. Brother, Shiro. Went to Kerberos a year ago and never came back, Shiro.

_If he’s here, then…_

“’m I de’?” Keith’s voice is hoarse, a broken whisper. “Am I dead?”

_Alive. Alive. Safe._

But it’s all too much. He doesn’t wait for an answer. Keith scrambles off the sofa, away, away, away from Shiro’s grasp. The effects of the anaesthetic still hasn’t ebbed entirely, so the moment he touches his feet to the floor and tries to stand his weight on them, he overbalances and crumples hard into the table. Dimly, he recognises it as the makeshift table of his own home – the shack, the one out in the desert – but that doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense.

Heart fluttering, Keith crawls over Shiro’s outstretched legs, half-expecting to be kicked in the stomach. It doesn’t happen, but he hears the shadows on the other side of the table stir, awoken by the sounds of him crashing about the place. Keith sucks in a terrified breath, picks himself up and stumbles for the open doorway.

It stays open for him. No one tries to obstruct him. No one pursues him. Out, he’s out. Keith gasps, staggers a few more steps out into the open night air and collapses in the sand.

His breaths are ragged, too shallow, far too quick. He squeezes his eyes shut. If he doesn’t calm down, they’re going to do it. They’re going to put him back under. They’re going to… they’ll…

Sand. Sand all around him. It’s hard and soft all at once. Unlike the white sheet he’d lain on…the sand moves with him, supporting him, its texture tangible and rough and coarse. His fingers dig into it, curl around it. Grains get lodged beneath his fingernails.

He listens to the wind shifting the sand beside his face. It whistles through the canyons at the edge of the plains. It washes over him. Ruffles the unkempt, tangled ends of his hair. Lifts the hem of the jacket he’s wearing, threatening to flip it up his back. But the wind can’t do that – the jacket’s zipped up. The only thing is can flip is the white hood, which flops over his face to hide him.

He’s safe. He’s not going to be exposed.

Shiro’s watching him from the doorway of the shack. Panic grips Keith’s chest. He shouldn’t have looked. He curls into a tight ball, knees level with his chest, arms crossed over his face, hands reaching up to pull the hood further over his face.

_Safe. Safe. Alive._

_Shut up! I get it already!_

_Alive. Safe. Sa-_

_Argh! Get out of my head!_

Keith’s heart drums through his chest, his head. Proof that he’s alive. His toes dig into the sand, his lungs breathe desert air. The stars are bright. A few clouds drift overhead. He can see them. Proof he’s alive.

The sand seems to be getting whiter. Keith peers out from under the hood. It’s getting lighter. Some of the stars have receded into space. The sun is rising. He waits, the fright fading but not vanishing without leaving behind a wary residue.

The sun. It peaks. He can see the sun.

Keith risks a glance at Shiro. It’s definitely Shiro, despite the weird clothes he’s wearing. He’s watching the sunrise, too. Taking a deep breath, Keith stiffly uncurls himself, rolls off his side to kneel in the sand, then he staggers to his feet, bracing his hands on his knees.

“You alright there, Keith?”

Shiro’s at his side, hands outstretched to steady him or catch him if he falls again. Keith flinches at the sight of fingers reaching for him, but Shiro seems to sense his flightiness and doesn’t touch him until Keith allows him.

Straightening up, Keith blinks back a wave of dizziness. “I’m fine,” he mutters.

Shiro nods, but places a hand on his back just in case. He must’ve seen it coming. The blood rushes from Keith’s face and before he can catch himself, he’s tilting backwards and Shiro’s arm is around his shoulders, pulling him back upright.

“Lance is getting some hot water ready,” he says. “Do you want to come inside and get your clothes so you can change and wash up?”

Keith stares at him blankly. _Who’s Lance?_ But the idea of soothing hot water, clean skin and washed hair distracts him enough to manage a small nod. Shiro applies a slight pressure to his shoulder to guide him towards the shack. Instinctively Keith tenses up, but Shiro’s hold is loose and light – he forces himself to relax, focuses on the heat of the new sun on the side of his face and the welcoming shadows of the inside of his desert home…

“Morning, Keith!”

Keith stiffens, heart accelerating. A big, tall guy is standing just inside the doorway when they enter, eating a bowl of porridge. Shiro’s arm tightens around his shoulders.

“These are the guys who rescued you last night,” Shiro explains. He points to the lean guy pouring a jug of steaming hot water into a large bowl. “That’s Lance. This is Hunk, and the nerd over there in the corner is Pidge.”

The short guy with glasses snaps his head up from staring at his laptop. “Hey!”

Keith flinches, expects a backlash from Shiro. But both Shiro and Pidgeon – no, _Pidge_ – are grinning. Hunk and Lance are too. Keith exhales slowly.

“Hey, Shiro,” Pidge says. “Can I ask you something?” He flicks a cautious glance at Keith, then fixes his eyes back on Shiro. “I also have something to show you.”

Keith wonders what this is about. Is it about him? Are they going to do something to him? Question him? Demand that he satisfy they’re questions because they got him out of that wretched place and –

A pile of red and black clothes are passed into Keith’s arms. Even a clean change of underwear. He blinks. _These are my clothes…_

“Hot water’s ready.” Lance stands in front of him holding the large bowl, a towel and a bar of soap he found. “Show me where you’re going to take a shower and I’ll bring these out for you.”

Keith stares at the water swirling around in the pool. In the bowl. _Hands on his shoulders. He can’t breathe. He should leave, now, while he can._

“I want my jacket back, man.” Lance fakes a pout. “Don’t take all day.”

Somehow his impatience gets under Keith’s skin. He bites back an irritable retort, shrugs off Shiro’s arm from his shoulders and stalks back out the door.

Keith rounds the side of the shack until he comes to the sheltered stall at the back. As expected, Lance follows with the rest of the stuff. Still on edge and not in the mood for joking around, Keith hastily unzips the jacket – _Lance’s_ jacket – and shakes it off, giving it back to its actually owner. There’s an apprehensive gleam in Lance’s eyes, as though he’s not sure how he should react to Keith’s sudden anger. But he takes the jacket with a small smile, sets down the bowl of hot water in the sand and hands Keith the towel and soap in exchange.

“Yell out if you need anything,” he says, then takes his leave.

Being shirtless again sets Keith’s nerves on fire. The elation of being _clean_ again and not smelling like he’s not had a shower in a month should be something close to ecstasy, but all Keith feels is exposed and vulnerable and defenceless. He strips out of the stupid grey shorts, flings them onto the sand with a frustrated grunt and proceeds to strip entirely, all the while casting frequent, nervous glances left and right and straining his ears in case someone is coming who he needs to fight.

In two minutes he’s scrubbed himself clean and is drying himself off as fast as possible. He hates being this exposed, particularily with so many people around. In the next minute he’s dressed, clean undies, long pants, a _shirt_ and his favourite red jacket. As soon as he pulls the jacket on, he feels the first sense of _comfort_ he’s had in a long time. But he’s still missing his boots, his knife, the belt with the sheath on it and his fingerless gloves. And his hair’s a dripping wet mess. He takes his time finger-combing all the knots out it, just like he used to.

He’s still not himself. Barefoot in the sand, in his own clothes, he’s still not himself. ‘Keith’ is a name that feels so foreign to him yet remains oddly familiar to him at the same time. It almost feels like that name does not belong to him. Not anymore. He can’t even remember what his normal self feels like, how he used to act…

Keith busies himself by pouring the rest of the hot soapy water of the dirty clothes. Quite frankly, he’d rather just set them alight and let them burn and bury the ashes in the sand. But that would take more time and energy and explaining than he cares for. This is the most efficient option he has right now.

He lets his hair drip-dry in the wind. Just like he used to. The ends of his now mullet-length hair soak into the shoulders of his jacket, but he doesn’t care. Just like he used it. Keith takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He’ll figure himself out eventually. As long as he doesn’t think about where he’s just come from and keeps his eyes facing forward.

Forward. There’s nothing there. There’s no Garrison. No more dreams of training to be a Garrison pilot. He can’t bear the thought of going back there. Not after…not after what…happened….

When Keith returns to the others, Shiro is doing his best to explain how he came back to Earth, and what happened to the rest of his crew. He’s changed into a set of black clothes. Apparently the whole Kerberos crew were captured by _aliens,_ and Shiro, who doesn’t know the whereabouts of the other two crew members anymore, escaped and crash-landed in an alien shuttle last night. Keith can’t help but think of Laurens’ research.

If there are actually aliens out there, then it could be said that Laurens, as a Biosecurity officer, was doing her job and that her research was a hundred percent justifiable and necessary. Meaning, therefore, that what she did to him wasn’t wrong at all, it’s just him, it’s all in his mind and he –

Keith faints.

He’s only out a few seconds, but it’s the whole disorientation thing all over again.

Shiro’s kneeling on the floor beside him, holding him against himself so that he’s not waking up to see a ceiling. The half-vertical orientation grounds him. Keith’s stomach churns. He realises he hasn’t eaten in…weeks, but he’s had nothing to sustain him in hours. Adding hunger to the turmoil of fight-or-flight mode and exhaustion, Keith is too weak to really pull himself together. But the embarrassment of having to lean against Shiro for support is more than he can take, and that’s worse.

He slumps forward, away from Shiro, his back curving so he can prop himself up on his elbows with his hands on his head. Keith lets out a weary sigh, rubs his forehead and tries again at sitting up straight. He feels Shiro’s hand light on his shoulder, again, just in case. Keith lets him.

There’s a lull in the explanation Shiro had been giving. Everyone’s watching Keith carefully, concern etched on their faces. It’s a little unsettling, almost like a bit of culture shock, seeing people _care_. He decides it’s better not to dwell on it and tries to shift the sole focus of attention off himself.

“I suppose I should thank you all for saving me,” Keith murmurs. His dark eyes flicker around the room, glancing at Pidge, Hunk and Lance - who has his jacket back on - respectively. “How did you know to come find me?”

Keith doesn’t need to ask to know that there’s a lot of details being omitted. Pidge boasts his hacking skills. Hunk lists the sequence of steps they ended up taking before they really found out what was going on. Then Lance cuts in as he starts to explain how they came to organise the rescue mission, summarising in one final sentence that that’s how they found out where he was and came to get him. Keith is sceptical. It’s like there’s something they don’t want him to know, like there’s something else or someone else involved in the story that they don’t deem Keith ready hear about yet.

Before he can think about it too hard, Shiro pitches in to say that he came straight from the crashes shuttle, knowing that he could shelter at Keith’s desert house. Again, there’s something key to the workings of both the rescue mission and Shiro’s coming to meet with them all. But Shiro has already switched subjects, much to Keith’s frustration.

“Voltron,” Shiro says. “It’s…some kind of weapon they’re looking for? All I know is that we need to find it before they do.”

Pidge lets out a startled exclamation. “Voltron? That’s the same word I keep hearing on my alien frequency channels I set up on my equipment! They keep repeating one word: Voltron. Last night it was going crazier than ever.”

Lance tilts his head towards Shiro. “Then you showed up.”

A thoughtful quiet ensures, then all of a sudden Hunk reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a diary. It catches Pidge’s eye.

The short guy squawks. “Hey! Give that back!”

Hunk lets him grab the book out of his hands with a chuckle. “Sorry Pidge. But seriously, take a look at this.” He fishes a folded up piece of paper out of a pocket in his vest. “I found a series of numbers in Pidge’s diary that looked like a Fraunhofer line. You know, a number that describes the emission spectrum of an element.  I think it might be this Voltron you’re talking about. I think I could build a kind of Voltron Geiger counter to look for it.”

“Hunk,” Lance says, grinning. “You big, gassy genius!”

Keith’s no longer listening. His eyes are locked on that piece of paper, at the graph – or more specifically, the line – sketched onto the paper. Recognition flares throughout his whole being.

“Give me that,” Keith says even as he snatches the paper from Hunk’s hands.

He grips the edges of the graph in shaking hands.

_Wake up. Live. Search._

It’s the same jagged outline he’s seen in his visions. That place, those rock formations, the voice that had urged him to live and endure and search…all of it could be actually real.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iverson has some formalities to deal with while Keith and the others gear up to find 1/5 of Voltron. The to-be paladins are nigh on heading off the radar, which brings me to this update: I've decided to do a part two! I'm still brainstorming ideas and details, but it'll be called 'Off the Radar' and will explore how the alternate reality of this fic might affect the canon storyline and Keith's interactions with the paladins and the Lions later down the track. After 'Under the Radar' concludes in the next chapter, it might be about a week or perhaps only a couple of days before I get the first chapter of 'Off the Radar' out (knowing me, the latter - I'm very passionate about writing). Got a few exams/assignments to study for/work on for Uni, so not sure exactly how long I'll be stringing my ideas together for the part two. 
> 
> Don't worry, I'm not procrastinating in regards to studying for Uni :) If anything, writing helps me stay in the studying-science/contemplative-thinking mindset whilst giving the remember-all-this-theory!!!! part of my brain a chance to rest while I get creative and wind down in the evening! (Please let me know if you spot any mistakes I've missed during proof-reading - it happens.)
> 
> Anyways, looong beginning notes aside. Chapter 10!!  
> (Thanks everyone for reading this far and for all your encouraging kudos and comments!! :D)

_Last night_

Gunderson’s leak brings the chaos its due.

Iverson arrives back at the Garrison after delivering Takashi Shirogane to safety. It only takes a few minutes before he’s intercepted. A senior officer escorts him to General Smith’s office where the police force, the other four generals, nine senior officers and a senior scientist from the Biosecurity ward, Professor Montgomery, wait. Laurens and her team of weasels are there, too, they themselves detained.

Laurens has received a nice bruise on the side of her head. She sits on her chair in the middle of the room, scowling. There’s no hint of guilt in her eyes, on her face, in her posture. If anything, she looks disappointed and annoyed that she didn’t get to finish what she started. The doctor sitting beside her has almost the same expression, though slightly more calculating, as though he’s trying to figure out how on earth they were found out.

 _These cadets are a force to be reckoned with_ , Iverson thinks as he surveys the scene before him. Everyone whose name was listed as ‘access granted’ under the Mugilidae file – they’re all here, all caught: Laurens, the doctor, the nurse and the medtech.

But Iverson, who initially helped them get their research set up, has to answer to the higher ups, too. Gunderson and Shirogane both volunteered to write him a reference in case things got difficult, however Iverson knows an anonymous letter would get him nowhere and revealing their identities would but all their hard work at stake. What Gunderson did to find the files was illegal, and even Iverson is leaning into his own risky territory by keeping Shirogane’s return hidden from everyone.

Shirogane and the cadets – they can’t be found, not until things have cleared up and young Kogane has had a chance to recover. Iverson is on his own here.

The senior officer ushers him in, and signals for Iverson to stand on the other side of the room. He obeys, coming to stand beside a distraught assistant in Biosecurity uniform. She must’ve been questioned, too, but not have been found guilty of willingly causing Kogane harm.

General Smith clears her throat. “Commander Iverson,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In one of the surveillance videos obtained by senior staff, you are seen to be helping Laurens in the capture of the victim, Cadet Keith Kogane. You also issued the order for the victim to accompany Laurens to the Biosecurity department after hours, and then proceeded to aid his detainment and cover up his absence under the illusion of expulsion. However, I am under the impression that you were unaware of the consequences your actions would have, that you were denied access to any further information in regards to the ‘research’ and it was your idea to hand your ID card and passcode over to the cadet responsible for Kogane’s rescue. Am I correct in saying this?”

Belatedly, Iverson realises he forgot to ask McClain for his ID card back. He’ll have to get it back after things have settled and use a temporary one in the meantime.

“Yes, ma’am. I was ordered to issue the notice of appointment to Cadet Kogane and I obliged. I then involved myself in his detainment as I was concerned for his wellbeing; I had and have no intention of harming him.”

There are shadows beneath General Smith’s eyes. They are always there, but tonight she looks particularly worn out. Iverson notices that all the senior staff gathered here with them have the same exhausted, disbelieving expressions. By this Iverson knows that the leak successfully reached all of them and its effect is apparent, as it should be.

“Commander Iverson,” says the General. “You say it was not your intention to harm him and that your knowledge of the true intentions behind the appointment was partial. Why, upon your concerns for Cadet Kogane’s safety being raised, did you not bring the matter to myself or another General to address?”

Iverson keeps his eyes on the General. “I was ordered not to, ma’am.”

“By whom?”

“A commanding officer who supersedes my rank, ma’am. They have the right to withhold information from me and I am not in a position to question it.”

General Smith fixes her cold, steely gaze on Laurens. Laurens raises an eyebrow, displaying without hesitation an attitude that would get her fired in an instant. She probably doesn’t care about respect anymore, since she’s going to lose her job anyway.  

“Was this commanding officer you speak of Biosecurity Commanding Officer Judith Laurens, who sits before us now?”

Iverson can answer now. “Yes, ma’am.”

The General nods, satisfied. “You may be at ease now, Commander Iverson.”

Iverson takes a step back, relieved to be released from questioning, and clasps his hands behind his back.

General Smith narrows her eyes. “Commanding Officer Laurens. As a Biosecurity officer, do you believe your ‘research’ was one hundred percent justifiable and one hundred percent necessary?”

“For the sake of planetary biosecurity, yes. The whole earth could be at risk, ma’am. In the event of an incursion, prevention is the first and most essential defence. If we can understand how to combat an alien species from outer space who may threaten us, then we can prevent them from establishing in the even that they break through the environmental filter of our Earth.”

The General’s gaze is fierce. “Is Cadet Kogane a threat to you, is he?”

“The blade of the knife in his possession is made from a metal that is not found on Earth. Kogane was questioned as to where - ”

“Can you be certain of that?” interrupts the General. “Are you certain that this unknown metal isn't simply that – unknown, undiscovered, unidentified? Not all corners of the Earth have been explored yet, Commander.”

Laurens opens her mouth to reply, but she’s at a loss for words. General Smith is scientifically correct and there’s no argument against that.

“Upon this presumption,” General Smith continues, “you assumed that the student in possession of the knife of question was alien, am I correct? I don’t believe you understand how _ludicrous_ such a thought is. Furthermore, the methods by which you obtained your data…oh, I must say, I am appalled. Your methods were no less than torture. There is absolutely _no_ justification for treating a person, much less a young cadet, in such a manner, Commander. No, don’t you _dare_ try to explain a reason. I’ve seen the files, Laurens. We all have. It’s unforgivable.”

Laurens leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Those files were restricted and coded. How did you gain access to them?”

“How we gained access to them is none of your concern,” General Smith answers curtly. “What is concerning is the certain measures you took to keep your ‘research’ under the Garrison radar. That is a breach of protocol, and your treatment of Cadet Kogane utterly uncalled for in the first place.”

Laurens disrespectful speech degrades further. The General continues to question every person identified to have been involved with the torture of Keith Kogane in some way, digging up confessions and filtering out lies until the Police are satisfied with knowing which individuals are guilty and which are not. Iverson and the assistant standing next to him are identified as not guilty. All those with access to the Mugilidae folder, however, are shortly arrested and taken off the premises.

It’s three hundred hours before Iverson is dismissed and leaves the office. He can’t deny how exhausted he is. But he knows there won’t be any sleep coming for him. In a few hours he’s due to meet with General Smith again, to explain all the details he couldn’t speak of in front of Laurens for the cadets’ safety.

Iverson shuts himself away in the privacy of his office and rubs a hand over his forehead. He’s still in shock at the revelation of what was going on behind the scenes. He’s still in awe of the three misfit cadets, still surprised at how effortlessly they work as a team despite their recent performances in the simulator.

Takashi Shirogane returned from space. Cadet Lance McClain successfully rescued Kogane. Gunderson’s unrivalled hacking skills ended up saving the life of a fellow cadet – he took a massive risk in doing so but the consequences would’ve been much worse if he hadn’t. Iverson remembers Commander Holt’s young daughter managing to break into his computer and wonders how many other students besides those two are that skilled in the art of hacking.

Iverson decides he may as well put his hours awake to good use and do something productive. Three ‘missing persons’ reports are due. By the end of this day, he’s going to have to address the absences of Pidge Gunderson, Lance McClain and Hunk Garret. He’s also going to have to write a letter to each of their families.

He may as well get started.

 

_Midday_

After a decently sized bowl of porridge, Keith leads the others down into the canyons. His legs still feel a little weak, but with Pidge and Hunk stopping frequently to check the readings on Hunk’s makeshift Voltron Geiger counter, Keith doesn’t need to worry about slowing anyone down. It’s a great relief to be saved from that embarrassment, especially after fainting in front of everyone.

The insistent ache inside his chest all morning grows stronger as they leave the desert sands for sandstone cliffs. Initially, Keith had mistaken it for a symptom of his near-constant state of anxiousness, but as soon as he laid eyes on the Fraunhofer line portraying the ‘Voltron’ energy, the voice in his mind had returned with compelling urgency. It tugged at his chest, quickened his pulse.

_Search. Get up, search. No time. Must search._

They’re searching. Keith follows his instincts and lets his feet lead. Of course, he has no idea where he’s going, only that he’s trying to find a particular viewpoint that could be absolutely anywhere in these canyons. Thanks to Hunk’s innovation though, they’re at least heading in a cross-referenced general direction.

Shiro has been quiet the entire time. Quieter than usual, quiet. Whenever Keith glances over at him just to reassure himself he wasn’t hallucinating earlier, Shiro’s always got an unnervingly distant look in his eyes. Then again, come to think of, Keith must be doing the same thing. He’s caught Lance watching him a couple of times, looking slightly concerned and watchful.

_Ah. Shiro said he was captured. He must be trying hard not to think about it. Like me. Except I was only held captive a few weeks. Shiro…_

_Valid. Your pain, valid. Alive. Lived. Alive. Strong. Brave._

_No, I’m not. I’m not brave. I wanted to give up so many times._

_Didn’t. Lived._

_But it’s not because of anything I did that I lived. If anything, I_ wanted _to die._

_Wrong. Lie. Only afraid. Still alive. Courageous. Lived. Endured. Persevered. Pulled through. Held on. Lived. Look._

_…look?_

_Search. Look. Ahead._

Keith pulls himself back into reality. He blinks. Is it just the heat, or does something about this part of the valley seem familiar? He stares up at the columns of sandstone ahead, the jagged outline they cast against the sky, carved by wind erosion above and ancient waters below…

“It’s here. This is the place.”

Everyone stops in their tracks. They turn to look at Keith, who’s holding the graph Hunk drew out in front of him. Pidge sidles over and leans over his arm. Keith’s heart jumps. He has to reassure himself that Pidge is not a threat.

After a moment Pidge’s eyes widen. “Oh, you’re right! Those stacks totally look like the graph!”

Lance whistles. “This is some wacky stuff going on here.”

Shiro murmurs in agreement while Hunk spins around with the receptor for the Geiger counter held up in the air. Hunk pauses, facing away to their left. Keith’s instincts are also drawing him that way.

They continue on, descending into a deeper part of the valley. The slopes of the valley are dotted with caves, some too miniscule for anything but a small bird, others gaping holes in the rock. The Geiger counter and the tugging in Keith’s chest lead them to one such cave and Keith is all of a sudden overwhelmed in recognition.

“These drawings,” he whispers, eyes travelling over the smooth walls and ceiling of the cave. “I’ve seen these. In my visions. These are the drawings I was telling you about.”

Keith marvels at what he’s seeing. He’d never given the visions he’d had much thought. He’d thought he’d just been delirious with pain, had been having fever dreams and started hearing voices that were all in his head.

_Wrong. Below. Below. Search._

He’s trying to figure out what on earth ‘below’ is meant to signify when Lance brushes his hand over one of the lion drawings on the cave wall. Keith’s chest fills with a kind of stirring, a long awaited awakening. He can almost hear the voice in his head _purring_.

The drawings all light up. They’re everywhere. Clear, defined lines. Foreign. Luminescent blue. Encircled in the same blue light, the five of them stand still, staring. Then the floor gives way beneath them all.

They’re caught by water, and the stirring inside Keith’s chest grows startlingly stronger. His head spins. He’s dropped into a shallow pool of water beneath the waterfall. His heart beats hard. The energy he’s been sensing, the voice inside his head…it’s like it’s not just inside of him, it’s like it’s all around him now.

_Found._

Pidge exhales sharply. “They _are_ everywhere…”

Keith raises his head, dully aware that even though he’s lying in a pool of water, his clothes aren’t getting soaked. He doesn’t have time to consider the science behind that because there is a massive robotic blue lion looming above them in the cave.

_I wasn’t going crazy. The visions were all real. The outline of the rocks, the voice, the blue lion…it’s all real. It’s all…you._

The voice of the Blue Lion purrs. Keith has never heard a lion purr.

_Do lions even purr?_

There’s a glowing orb of transparent blue surrounding the Lion. It appears to be protecting it, like some kind of force field. Keith runs up to it, passing the others easily even in his weakened state. Eagerly he presses his hands against the giant orb, but the force field is a solid wall of energy. It doesn’t give off any kind of defence mechanism, but it seems so impenetrable that Keith imagines it hardly needs it.

Keith frowns, watching the energy wall ripple beneath his hands. “I wonder how we get through here…”

“Maybe you just have to knock?” Lance comes up beside him and raps his hand on the force field.

Keith thinks Lance is just being stupid and is about to say something sarcastic when there’s a sudden rush of energy. The force field vanishes in a whoosh of blue. Keith feels the energy flare in his chest and then it’s gone.

The presence of the Blue Lion is no longer with him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite lines from Season 1 Episode 1 (besides Keith's, 'Uh...Vol-tron???'): "Uh, it appears to be a flying blue lion, sir?"  
> That was the moment Voltron: Legendary Defender had me hooked.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and for your amazing support/encouragement!! :D I have an exam tomorrow (yes, I studied today) and a research assignment to work on over the weekend, so there might be a delay in me finishing/posting the first chapter of the sequel to this fic, but keep a look out!

Voltron.

Everyone has the same vision: five Lions of different colours combining to form a giant robot man. This Blue Lion, the massive cat shaped robot sitting in this cave, the voice that’s been inside Keith’s head for the last week or two – this is only one part of it.

According to Shiro, this is what ‘they’re’ after. Keith’s unsure of who exactly he’s referring to, since he’d been either washing himself or fainting when Shiro was telling that part of his story, but he’s presuming it’s the Kerberos crew’s captors. Apparently they need to get this Lion somewhere before ‘they’ find it. The fact that there might be a battleship of aliens headed to Earth right this moment should be concerning, but there’s something else that’s got Keith on edge and he can’t dismiss it.

 _Why did you show_ me _the visions?_

The Blue Lion doesn’t answer.

_You could’ve just spoken to Lance in the first place. You didn’t have to go to all the trouble of telling me to hold on back there._

Nothing. Keith can’t hear its voice anymore.

He senses someone watching him and glances up to find Shiro looking at him carefully. Pidge and Hunk are already following Lance up the ramp into the Lion.

“You okay?” Shiro asks, his eyebrows raised.

Keith looks away, nods. “I’m fine.”

He’s not. But he’s too much in shock to be able to process anything clearly, much less his own emotions. Keith doesn’t trust his thought processes, so while it instinctively feels like he should be counting Blue’s abrupt withdrawal from telepathic connection a rejection, he’s unwilling to do so. Somehow it doesn’t feel right. She didn’t have to reach out to him at all. But she had, and she’d probably saved his life in doing so by giving him the willpower to keep living.

Just like that, Keith’s _thinking_ about it again. The tests. The collar around his neck. Lying flat on his back for nigh on two weeks. Alone. The white walls, the white sheets, the white lights. Laurens’ cold, careless gaze. The opening and closing of the lab door, the dreading of what kind of experiment he’ll be subjected to next. Confusion. Pain. Emptiness. Helplessness. Hopelessness.

Blue roars. Keith’s startled out of his trance as the Lion leaps. Into the cave wall, through the wall and out into the open sky.

Keith grips the seat. Having been strapped down on a bed unable to move for ages, the sudden motion makes his legs feel wobbly. His head spins, the Lion spins, the world outside spins…

Then Lion starts doing somersaults.

Keith loses his balance, his fingers leave the chair and he stumbles backwards, tilting sideways. Shiro doesn’t catch him in time. Keith hits the floor, his head smashing against the back wall of the cockpit. Pain flares in his skull. His vision flashes black, white, black.

He must’ve blacked out for a few seconds, because when he opens his eyes, Shiro’s crouching down beside him. His non-cyborg arm is curled around Keith’s shoulders, keeping Keith’s head off the ground while bracing them both against the Lion’s jostling speed with a hand pressed against the wall. Outside the cockpit windows, the sky is growing a darker, blacker kind of blue.

They’re heading towards the exosphere.

Keith's eyes widen in alarm. “Where are you going?!”

“I just said it’s on auto-pilot,” Lance yells back.

Apparently he doesn’t realise what his lack of control at the helm just did. Apparently Keith did just black out after all.

He groans as the throbbing in his head pulses. “You are the worst pilot ever!”  

Lance ignores him. “It says there’s an alien ship approaching Earth,” he says in answer to a question Hunk just asked. “I think we’re supposed to stop it.”

“What did it say exactly?” Pidge yells.

“It’s not like it’s saying _words_ , more like feeding ideas into my brain…kind of.”

_Oh. I know that kind of…_

So Blue’s connection is with Lance now. That’s the story.

The disappointment that crashes over Keith is heart-wrenching. He swallows hard. Hunk says something stupid that earns a disapproving glare from everyone and a sharp retort from Shiro. Keith doesn’t hear it. His concentration’s shattered, his head hurts and his mind’s a mess with trying to keep it together and failing bad.

He zones out so terribly that he doesn’t even notice the hulking mass of alien ship until it’s firing purple laser beams at them. He doesn’t realise it’s chasing them until Shiro says something about seeing Kerberos, although that can’t be right – it takes _months_ for the Garrison’s ships to get out this far; there’s no way they could have gotten out here in, like, five seconds.

Something luminescent blue appears out of nowhere in the Lion’s path. It swirls in the middle of space like some kind of whirlpool. A portal. Lance is asking everyone whether they’re all okay trusting the Lion and going through this mysterious portal. Everyone agrees, but Keith is too stunned, too in shock, too out of it to muster enough focus to respond.  The general consensus is to go through the portal, so that’s what they end up doing.

Really, Keith’s fine with anything. As long as it puts him off Laurens’ radar, he’s fine with anything.

 

“You will be pleased to hear the news,” General Smith murmurs wearily, “of Laurens’ charge.” She turns away from the desert view of her office window, a grim smile on her face. “Life imprisonment. She may be permitted parole in forty years’ time, under the conditions she is prohibited from entering any role of science or personal relations. I do believe, however, that it is highly unlikely she will be granted even that.”

Iverson is relieved to hear that Laurens’ convictions have earned her an appropriate sentence. It wouldn’t be fair on Kogane if it had turned out otherwise, nor the three cadets who were willing to risk their positions at the Garrison in order to investigate something appeared out of the ordinary to them. In fact, Iverson never did ask what exactly started their investigation.

 _Their observation skills are far greater than most cadets in their year,_ Iverson marvels. _Even their teamwork is exceptional, although why on earth they couldn’t demonstrate that in the simulator is beyond me._

“As for our doctor, nurse and medtech who stood trial with her,” General Smith says, “all received the same sentence. However, the medtech’s time of imprisonment before considering parole has been reduced to half. I expect that the judge perceived that she acted more in accordance with Laurens’ ordering than her own desire. Yet she complied, whilst having full knowledge of the situation. Hence the life imprisonment sentence remains for her.”

There’s no reply Iverson can or is expected to give, so he simply nods. The General holds his gaze a moment, considering her next words which, judging by her raised eyebrow, is likely to be a question.

“Am I correct in making the assumption that you are aware of Cadet Kogane’s current location, Commander?”

Iverson can’t back out of this one, however…

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he says, “I request permission to withhold this information for Cadet Kogane and his rescuers’ safety.”

General Smith assesses the request carefully. After a lengthy pause, she nods, the hint of a smile touching her lips. “I understand your concern. However, as your superior, I ask that you release this information so that I myself, with some trustworthy senior officers, may ensure that Kogane’s safety is not compromised.”

Iverson acknowledges the General’s order and answers. It’s not until he’s standing on the rooftop with a friend he’s made in the lower officer ranks, staring out into the desert at what appears to be a _flying blue lion_ , that he realises Kogane and the others may not still be where he last knew them to be.

There’s no email from Gunderson. She probably doesn’t want to risk exposing herself as the one who leaked the files, he realises. Fair enough. Iverson can’t help but feel a kind of awe at Katie Holt’s ability to disguise and conceal herself in full view of everyone. She’s a genius, like her father was, like her brother was. If Iverson was in a war, he’d definitely not want to be on their opposing side.

When he checks Kogane’s residence in the evening, the three cadets, Shirogane and Kogane aren’t there. The empty boxes of rolled oats and the cleaned bowls and spoons lying on the floor beside the kettle tell Iverson they were here until morning passed, at least. There’s also a washed, yet still damp pair of grey shorts lying carelessly tossed in the corner on the other side of the sofa. Iverson recognises them as the shorts Kogane had been wearing when he came by with Shirogane last night.

Iverson decides against waiting around from them. He has a gnawing suspicion that it was them inside that blue lion he saw today. He’d bet a hundred dollars it was McClain in the pilot’s seat, too, if the loop-de-loops were anything to go by.

 _Getting that kid out of the cargo pilot class wasn’t a dumb decision_.

The five in question don’t show up again. It’s like they’ve just vanished. This proves to be concerning for General Smith, but Iverson, though he has to send out the three missing persons reports he’s written for the cadets' families, he’s not all that worried. They’re off the radar. At present, that’s the safest place for all five of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for Part Two, 'Off the Radar' :D


End file.
